A Knight in Shining Armour
by Sisimka
Summary: Five years after the end of the Blight, Fergus moves on with the rest of his life. Rated M for mature and suggestive themes.
1. A Knight in Shining Armour

A Knight in Shining Armour

_This story was originally published as part of Interludes. I have pulled the Fergus chapters out and published them separately. For those who are unfamiliar with my version of Ferelden, this story takes place approximately five years after the end of the Blight. Aedan is Warden Commander of Ferelden and is married to Leliana. They have three children (two adopted, one of their own). Alistair is the King of Ferelden and is also married to the daughter of Arl Wulff. Oghren Commands Alistair's armies, Nate is the Arl of Amaranthine and Zevran continues to be Aedan's loyal companion._

_These chapters here delve into what Fergus did during the Blight, and since. I wrote them as a way to explore the brotherhood and friendship between the Cousland boys and it did not take long for the quiet teyrn to capture my imagination._

_I have published them separately here as I hope he will also capture yours._

_As always, what belongs to Bioware, belongs to Bioware. As always, I thank them for allowing me to play in their sandbox._

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Fergus lingered at the gates longer than necessary. He watched his brother's family move down the road until they dwindled into the distance, the horizon finally swallowing them. He felt somewhat as if his heart went with them.

The quiet Teyrn well remembered the day Aedan had been born. He'd hoped for a brother, someone to not only relieve the boredom of his days, but to share his imagination and just be… younger. The eight year old boy looked forward to being able to teach instead of being taught, and to shepherding someone through what he perceived as the pitfalls of childhood. Fergus made no secret of the fact he wished for a boy, just as his mother did not seek to hide her longing for a girl. His father expressed no preference other than a healthy child and easy birth. All had gone well and that evening he'd been invited to meet his younger sibling.

"What is it, what is it?" he'd asked, bouncing upon his toes.

"'It' is a baby, Fergus," his father answered, a smile hovering about his mouth, relieving the tired lines about his face. Childbirth in Ferelden was always a risky thing…

Though caught by the urge to stamp his foot and demand to know if he had a brother or a sister, Fergus instead quickened his step, he'd find out soon enough. His father's long stride outmatched his and the man reached the door first, opened it, then stood aside allowing his eldest to enter before him.

Fergus looked over toward the bed and saw his mother looking pale but well and happy, so very happy. He never forgot the look on her face. He hoped she'd looked like that when he'd been born and of course he'd been told she had. Eleanor loved both her children equally. But that day he interpreted her look differently. His mother looked so radiantly happy because she had her heart's desire, a daughter, cradled within her arms. He could recall how his hopes had fallen as a physical sensation, something within in him dropping towards his boots. But as a polite young boy he'd worked to keep a smile on his face and stepped forward anyway to greet the newest Cousland.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, he took a look at the wrinkled and red face nestled against amongst soft folds of blanket. Even then, the babe had had a high brow framed with wisps of dark hair and a somewhat angular nose. Eyes of intense blue opened to regard him.

"It doesn't look like a girl," Fergus said wonderingly. It didn't, not at all. Though he supposed babies often looked odd.

His mother chuckled softly and reached over to move a wayward lock of hair from his own face and stroked his cheek before securing the blanket about her new babe. "That's because he's not. Fergus, this is your new brother, Aedan."

"Greetings, Aedan," he said somberly, his quiet voice belying the joy he felt within.

Having a younger brother had not been exactly as he'd envisaged. While he did get the opportunity to teach and share, the shepherding part was often a little overwhelming. Aedan followed him _everywhere_. The young Fergus came to miss his solitude and crave quiet times, not that his younger brother was an excessively noisy child, but he always seemed to radiate energy, as if at any moment he could spring into action – which he often did, alarming anyone not attuned to his odd restlessness.

Aedan's devotion to his older brother had always been obvious, however. Always. Sometimes it had been almost embarrassing to look over and catch those cool blue eyes gazing so intently at him, as if he were the most interesting and wonderful thing in all of Thedas.

Fergus smiled now at the memory of their childhood together. Even now that they were grown up, Aedan still have him that look now and again and he treasured it. He didn't feel so much like the older anymore, they were simply brothers. But that look always reminded him.

Then there were the other moods he'd catch in Aedan's eyes, particularly since the Blight.

He did and did not envy Aedan, having heard his brother's secrets and what it meant to be a Grey Warden. Fergus pitied his brother the shortened span of his life, the taint in his blood, the calling to a cause he'd not chosen for himself. Besides that, Aedan's recent trials in Orlais had horrified the quiet Teyrn. He winced in memory of the scars across his brother's back and shoulders. Fergus had his own scars, from wounds sustained in the Korcari Wilds, during the battle to retake Highever and the siege of Denerim. He'd seen more bloodshed and battle in his lifetime than he'd ever thought he might, but Aedan had seen more. His once quiet and gentle younger brother had seen true darkness.

Yet he had somehow managed to find a wife and collect a family. He had two sons and a daughter. Fergus adored his nephews and niece; he didn't care that only one of them carried Cousland blood. For a long time he'd found it hard to look at Riordan and not see Oren. Now he could look at the small dark haired boy and see a young Aedan and he would smile at that serious little face. Just as he could now think of Oren and though he felt the loss of his son, keenly, he could smile at the memory of the good times.

Fergus tried to hold on to the better memories of his wife also, not the bittersweet ones – the regrets. He could never quite decide if it better or worse that he'd not been there to witness Howe's betrayal and the deaths of all who were dear to him. He had left Castle Cousland that evening with grim expression, knowing he marched to war, but inside his heart had been light. Highever lay well north of Ostagar, his family would be safe…

A frown creased his brow and Fergus realised he could no longer see anyone along the road, not even a swirl of dust marked their wake. Silence, heavy but for the occasional bird call and whisper of wind seemed to blanket the world and Fergus blinked against his melancholy and silently thanked the Maker for the family that remained. His brother and Leliana – the sister he'd never had, his nephews and niece.

Turning to regard the stone walls of Castle Cousland, Fergus let out a soft sigh. Though the place teemed with people, servants and armsmen, it seemed to echo in the absence of children's laughter, Aedan's energy and Leliana's light.

Continuing to turn, he let his gaze move across the formal gardens set outside the wall and to the forest beyond. The solitude of the trees beckoned. He would be alone in the castle despite being surrounded by people. The forest held true silence but for the quiet rustlings of animals, it was meant to be peaceful. If he craved noise afterwards, he could follow the path to the cliffs and listen to the crash of the surf below.

He set off across the short grass, skirted the trees dotted about the edge of the garden, and passed into the cool shelter of the forest. As he progressed between the solid trunks sounds caught his attention. The whisper of the wind across the tops of the trees, birds calling and squirrels chittering. A distant knock might be a woodpecker and the sudden rustles would be chipmunks or rabbits darting out of his path. The smell of the forest floor rose to meet him, mulched leaves, brown pine needles and the distinctive odor of mud. The combined scents carried him back to childhood once more. He and Aedan had often adventured in the forest – slaying mythical dragons, taking their lunch to the river and pretending they were on a long journey, climbing trees to act as lookouts and the unfortunate incident when they had tried to light a fire. A chuckle tickled past Fergus's lips as he recalled the pair of them flapping their hands about as the small sapling near their 'fire pit' had suddenly burst into flames. Fortunately, they'd been close to the river and had their fishing bucket with them. Bryce Cousland was a forgiving man, but had they burned down an entire forest, well…

Of their own accord, his legs carried him towards the river and Fergus's faint smile widened as the ripple chuckle of water reached his ears. The rocks along the bank diverted the course of the river in many places, causing frequent rapids and unpredictable pools of deeper water. Stepping out onto one of the rocks, he looked downstream to the widest part of the river where the water looked deceptively smooth. The current moved swiftly there – Aedan had almost drowned there. Looking upstream, he saw the deeper pool where he and Aedan liked to swim most often. He'd broken his brother's nose there, completely by accident. A wince crossed his features as he remembered the sharp crack and the immediate gush of blood as his elbow caught Aedan's face in the midst of their rambunctious play.

Fergus sat down on the rock and shook his head softly, a smile winning over his mouth. Breaking his brother's nose wasn't a particularly treasured memory, but he remembered that afterwards Aedan had been so proud of the bump, the small imperfection on his nose.

"It makes me look interesting!" he said. "And more like an adventurer!"

Of course, Fergus had had to retort with something like, "You look interesting enough with that long nose and those pale eyes. You were supposed to be a girl you know, it's a good thing you weren't!"

And a playful scuffle had ensued and then they'd trekked through the forest again, always returning, despite the mishaps, continuing their adventures, proudly displaying their scars.

After resting on the rock briefly, Fergus pushed to his feet. He felt more centered than he had before, restored. His memories of the past had soothed him. He didn't feel like returning to the castle just yet though, so he decided to follow the river upstream for a while.

Upstream lay the source of the river, or where it entered Cousland lands. A series of caves and fissures gathered about another rocky cliff that resembled a cut off hillside, as if part of it had been sliced away and the river had gushed forth from the wound.

Fergus wandered slowly upstream, following his memories once again. Instead of listening to the thunder of surf against the cliffs, he thought he might duck his head into some of the caves he and Aedan had explored as boys. They had walked out here together recently, a couple of weeks before, but had not made it far upstream. Instead they'd cast lazy lines into the river and had napped upon the bank, both of them losing their bait, neither of them minding in the slightest. The deepest their conversation had dwelled was what Nan might serve for dinner that night. It wouldn't be fish…

The ground rose gently as he approached the hills and the river narrowed and quieted, though he could faintly hear the rush and hiss ahead where the water fell from the rock in a short fall into a shallow pool that then spilled into the river.

"Crap…"

Fergus stopped at the faint sound and turned his head about looking for the source. Had someone actually spoken or had it been his imagination…

"Maker damn it all to oblivion!"

Not his imagination then.

"Hello?" he called.

"Hello?" she answered. It sounded like a she…?

Fergus walked towards the hillside, thinking the voice had come from over there. The forest thinned as angled away from the river and towards the first rise of rock that seemed to have tumbled from the cliff. The sound of their voices seemed to have stilled the wildlife temporarily and Fergus called out again to pinpoint her location. "Are you alright? Do you require aid?" The swearing could mean anything.

"Yes, no! Wait… don't come too close…" her voice trailed off, somewhat muffled and Fergus peered curiously at the ground. It almost sounded as if… "You might slip… sinkhole…"

Stopping in his tracks, Fergus drew in a sharp breath as he realised what must have happened. With the caves spreading beneath the hillside and under the forest, sometimes the ground gave way beneath the feet. Normally a narrow fissure of chimney was the cause, something to catch the ankle. He'd twisted his own in that fashion out here before. But it sounded as if the woman had found a much larger hole. He scanned the ground before him, it looked innocuous enough.

"Call out again," he prompted. "So I know where you are."

"Down here," she called, confirming that she was indeed below the ground and somewhere off to his left.

Fergus stepped gingerly forward. "Right, I'm heading over there, are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. Be careful!" the voice admonished.

A flash of irritation had him frowning as he picked his way carefully amongst the boulders and underbrush strewn across the ground, the clearing resembling an unkempt field. His boot hit a patch of mulched leaves and Fergus flailed his arms to keep his balance as he slipped, but righted himself before hitting the ground.

"Are you there?" she called.

"Here," he answered, followed by an exclamation, "Argh!" as his boot then decided, on its own of course, to become lodged in one of the fissures he'd hoped to avoid. A twinge of pain shot through his ankle. Fergus blew out a breath and gingerly pulled against his boot.

"What happened? I told you to be careful!"

"I am being careful!" Fergus bit his lip over the irritation in his voice. "I just caught my boot," he grunted a little as he pulled it from the fissure, "and now I am fine." He took another step and winced as his ankle failed to hold his weight, buckled and though he reached out his hands met nothing but air and he fell. Maker's breath.

"That does _not_ sound fine…"

Squeezing both his eyes and his lips shut, the eyes in frustration, lips over a yelp of pain, Fergus concentrated in letting his breath out slowly. "I, er," he rolled over, his brow creasing as rocks bit into his ribs and legs in passing, "the footing is somewhat precarious," he finally admitted. Instead of gaining his feet, Fergus crawled forward on his hands and knees. He could see the opening ahead, a dark shadow between a large boulder and a smooth patch of ground. Inching forward, carefully, he peeked over the lip of the hole. "Hello?"

He couldn't really see far into the darkness, which meant the hole was deep.

"Hello," she answered. "Are you being…"

"Careful? Yes." Fergus gritted his teeth. "I cannot see you, is the hole very deep? How did you not get injured?"

Splashing answered his question. He could just make out a ripple below as light filtered downward, and then a shadowed face peered from one side. "I fell into the water. I'm on a shelf now."

Fergus nodded, then realised she'd likely not be able to see the gesture. "Right. Let me think a moment on how to get you out of there." He shuffled back from the edge and sat back on his heels.

"Just go get someone to help," the voice in the hole commanded.

Brows raised Fergus bit his lips together again, this time over a bark of laughter. Did she realise she'd just ordered the Teyrn to go for help? Though he did not expect the townspeople or his guards and knights to bow and scrape before him, it did tweak his sense of humour to be commanded like a servant or a child. Particularly on top of the repeated pleas to 'be careful'. Was she so particular on that score because she had _not_ been careful?

Going to get help did seem a rather sensible idea, except that his ankle had started to throb. It would be a slow journey. Casting his eyes around for something he might use as a crutch, Fergus spied a long stick, too slender to be used as a cane, but perhaps long enough to reach into the hole. He was a strong man, well muscled through exercise and discipline. He should be able to pull a woman from a hole in the ground.

"And then she can help me walk back to the castle," he muttered, shaking his head and uttering a sound somewhere between a tsk and a chuckle.

"What? Are you there?"

"I am here."

Fergus reached for the stick and discovered it was actually a tree root snaking through the leaves and grasses. Pulling out his belt knife, he scouted out what he thought might be a suitable length and cut it off.

"What are you doing? Are you going for help?" Her tone now sounded querulous.

"I am going to try something."

"Wouldn't it be easier if…"

"Are you always this quarrelsome?" Fergus snapped.

"Only when I'm stuck a Maker forsaken hole!" Splashing followed her reply and then her voice called up more clearly, "I apologise if I sound terse." Rather than the expected sarcasm, she actually sounded sorry.

Fergus sighed. "No, I should be the one to apologise. Here," he started feeding the root over the edge of the hole, "grab a hold of this. If it is supple enough, tie it about yourself."

Silence met his request then he felt a tug on the other end of the length of tree root. "Got it."

She tugged a little harder on it and it slipped through his hands a little faster and Fergus quickly tightened his grip. He did not want to hear her thoughts if the entire root fell into the hole with her. After some time during which the root moved back and forth and generally jerked about in his hands, she called up, "Right. If you're sure this will work?" She sounded nervous and a little tired.

No. "We can only try. If it doesn't work, I'll go for help, alright?"

"Well… alright." She tugged on the root.

Fergus yelped as he slid across dry mulched leaves and sharp rocks, the former speeding his way, the latter ripping at his pants and jacket. He thrust his hand into a crack and managed to lodge his boot into a crevice.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, sorry, I did not expect you to pull right away," Fergus answered a little tightly as he sat up and wedged his boots into the cracks and crevices.

"Oh… sorry."

"It's alright, I've braced myself, I'm going to try and pull you out now."

He tugged on the root and felt her weight settle against the end of it as he managed to lift her from the ground. Taking in a deep breath, Fergus pulled backwards, placing one hand over the other. The fact that he could lift her at all meant she wasn't heavy, but anything hanging from a rope, or root, took strength to lever out of a hole. Firming his legs and straightening his back, Fergus continued hauling the root upwards. Fingers reached up over the lip of the hole and scrabbled about amongst the dry weeds and loose pebbles.

Fergus continued pulling, ignoring the temptation to reach for her hand. The top of her head came into view, a bird's nest of brown curls, and then her face. "Lucinda!" he gasped, surprised to see Ser Travers's younger sister.

"My lord!" she answered.

Taking a firmer grip on the root, Fergus pulled harder. She had her other hand wrapped around the root and as her shoulders cleared the edge, she tried to put both arms over the edge. Then began the game of trying to pull herself up with one hand, fingers clawing at the rock, while not letting go of her life line. Fergus wanted to reach for her hand, but he dared not let go of the root, particularly now as all her weight seemed to be hanging from the other end. He imagined she'd climbed the wall of the hole to a certain point, but now simply swung from the edge, feet kicking into open air.

Lucinda managed to get both elbows above the edge, and Fergus held his breath. She let go of the root in order to grab at one of the rocks and he saw too late that she reached for the wrong one; it came up off the ground in her hand. Her mouth opened in a silent 'o' and it seemed time slowed as she slipped backwards.

Fergus abandoned the root and reached for her, grabbing the hand that still clutched at the edge. Unfortunately, he loosened her grip in the process. Her weight then pulled on his arm, which tugged him forward, wrenching his sore ankle from its hold behind one rock and leaving his other boot wedged in a crevice.

Slowed time then stood still as he teetered over the lip of rock and then suddenly he was swallowed by blackness followed by a splash as Lucinda hit the water, a spray of droplets striking his face, and then he plunged into the pool, face first, eyes open, mouth open. Water seemed to rush down his throat and Fergus coughed and spluttered in the cool, wet darkness. He kicked out with his feet and flailed with his hands, trying to turn himself upright in the lightless pool. He became disoriented and panic wormed its way into his thoughts as the world seemed to lose definition and direction. He could not remember which way was up. His hands struck rock and he pulled himself towards it only to feel himself jerked backwards. He struggled against the grip until something tapped him on the head. Lucinda?

He relaxed and then realised she had his collar and was pulling him upwards. Craning his head back, he could see the light above the pool and then his head broke the surface of the water. He tried to take in a breath and only coughed as water surged out of his lungs.

Lucinda dragged him out of the pool, though by the time his back hit the slimed and muddied 'shore', Fergus had recovered enough to help. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks as he pulled himself up onto the ledge, then he rested on his hands and knees and coughed again, his throat raw and his head spinning.

"My lord, are you well?"

"Fergus," he coughed, "Call me Fergus, Lucinda." Maker's breath. He flopped onto his backside and sat blinking at the dim light surrounding them. What had he done? "I'm so sorry," he began. Beside him, Lucinda began to chuckle and he squinted at her through the darkness, wondering if she'd hit her head, or if perhaps she wept and it just sounded as if she laughed. "What in Thedas…?"

"Well… Fergus," Lucinda managed to get out, before clapping her hand over her mouth, squelching more laughter. Her shoulders shook a little, and then she took in a gulp of air, chuckled one more, then breathed out a sigh. Glancing over at him, she finally continued. "You really are a knight in shining armour."

His mouth dropped open and then he gazed around at the dark hole and the shaft of light that played off of the rippled water. He saw his bootless foot and his ripped pants. Then Fergus glanced at her face. He could barely see her in the darkness, could just make out the smudges of dirt and bedraggled tendrils of hair.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He laughed. Lucinda joined in.


	2. Lights in the Darkness

Lights in the Darkness

Lucinda's brother, Ser Travers, had come to Highever as a page at the age of eight. Fergus had been seven at the time and Aedan had yet to be born. The young Cousland welcomed the shy boy from Amaranthine and they became fast friends. Aedan had been born just over a year later and the brothers often paired up with Travers and Roland, Bann Gilmore's son, who arrived as a squire when Aedan turned twelve. Travers, with his quiet disposition, proved the perfect foil for the more garrulous Roland just as Fergus's easy laugh jollied Aedan out of his often serious mindset. Together the four urged each other to more daring exploits.

Highever would never forget Roland's sacrifice, though ultimately it had been in vain. Aedan had told Fergus of their friend's brave effort to hold the doors the night Howe's men seized the castle. Though his body had never been found a tribute to Ser Roland Gilmore had been erected in the garden, next to the memorial for the former Teyrn and Teyrna of Highever whom he'd died trying to save.

Travers had been with Fergus, at Ostagar and in the Korcari wilds. They had retaken Highever together and it was after that time Travers's family had fled Amaranthine, bringing with them his sister, Lucinda, newly widowed and with a young son. Fergus remembered greeting Lucinda and welcoming her to Highever. He'd welcomed many from Amaranthine, after the Blight and Howe's treachery and again, after the Architect. He couldn't say why he recalled meeting Lucinda so clearly. Perhaps it had simply been that he'd been greeting the sister of a close friend, or maybe he'd recognised a kindred soul. They'd both lost much to the Blight.

A day spent in a hole in the ground should have passed slowly. Perhaps for Fergus alone, it might have. He'd have sat on that shelf of rock beside the pool and watched the angle of the sun change as the dim and dust flecked beam moved across the water and halfway up the wall, eventually turning yellow, then orange before darkening, fading and disappearing altogether.

Instead, the hours seemed to pass unnoticed and they both worked to find a way out of their predicament. At first they chatted idly as acquaintances do, for though they knew of each other, they did not know each other very well.

"May I ask," Fergus began, soon after their initial laughter ceased to echo about the rocks, "What you are doing down here?"

"I fell in?" Lucinda offered, then quickly followed up with, "Though I was not rescuing a damsel in distress at the time."

In the dim light, he could see her smile and it filled him with an odd sense of relief. Given that she'd repeatedly asked him to be careful, he'd figured she might spend the first hour scolding him for his trouble. She did not and as her story unfolded, it became easy to see why. Lucinda did not dwell upon what might have been or could be, she held on to what she had – which at the moment proved to be a rather wet and disheveled Teyrn.

Smiling, Fergus backtracked. "Alright then, what were you doing before you fell down here?"

A small sigh escaped her lips. "I'd come out here to check on some traps, perhaps do a little foraging, for herbs? Some of my supplies were running low and I'd thought a nice rabbit might do well for the pot!"

Fergus's stomach agreed with a soft rumble and they both chuckled.

"We've only been down here for about ten minutes and you're already complaining that you're starving…" Lucinda said with grin.

"Now, now, it's more a lack of breakfast I think. I'd…" he'd skipped it to spend more time with Aedan. "My brother left today," he offered by way of explanation.

"Oh," she started. "I suppose that means we can't hope for rescue by a proper knight then? Travers was to accompany The Warden as far as Denerim, right?"

Fergus nodded, his brows drawn together in thought. Lucinda had called referred to his brother as The Warden. Most people did, he realised, without hesitation. That's who Aedan was and would always be. Some called him The Hero of Ferelden and others called him Commander, but all thought of him as The Warden. And though Aedan had retired from the Order, the taint he carried within guaranteed that he'd always be a Warden. This struck him as sad. He knew that now, besides being the Teyrn of Gwaren, Aedan wanted to be just… Aedan. But of course, he'd gone through a similar thing himself upon becoming Teyrn. He'd been called 'my lord' from a young age by servants, men at arms and even his friends, Travers and Roland, in certain company. But when he'd assumed the mantle of Teyrn, the inflection had changed. It had taken some getting used to and even five years later he often felt like an imposter. Or like the son of a Teyrn still.

Realising his thoughts had drifted Fergus cleared his throat and answered her question. "Right. He should return before the month is out – of course that might be too late for us, eh?" he added with a small smile. "Does anyone know you're out here?"

"Not really? My son is with his grandfather, out on the boat. They're not due back 'til the end of the week. What about you? Surely the Teyrn does not wander about alone?"

"Oh, but he does," Fergus answered, his tone somewhat resigned. "On occasion." Glancing up at the ring of rocks overhead, he said, "We need a plan." He looked at Lucinda. "What were you doing when you heard me?"

"Cursing and trying to think of a plan? I'd not been down here long."

Fergus chuckled, remembering it had been her curses that had drawn his attention. "Alright, what do we have down here?"

"Two wet people, one without a boot and a swollen ankle, the other with a sodden bag of herbs." She foraged in her bag and pulled out some elfroot. "Here, it's not distilled and it's going to taste bitter, but it will numb the pain and help with the swelling."

After gazing at the limp roots for a moment, Fergus accepted her offering and advice. He saw little point in suffering needlessly. He chewed on the bitter roots, grimaced and then cupped his hands into the pool and washed the taste from his mouth with some of the water. "At least we have a ready supply of water," he remarked.

Lucinda raised her brows and pressed her lips together.

"Ah," Fergus said and let his cupped hands fall apart without taking a second drink. If they were caught down here too long, they'd have to relieve themselves somewhere…

Shuffling back from the edge of the pool, Fergus turned about and peered into the darkness behind them. "Have you looked back here?"

"No, I don't know how far back it goes. I wanted to try climbing out before I got lost forever in the caves."

"Wise choice," Fergus commented. "Aedan and I, and your brother, often explored these caves. They extend for miles back through the hillside." If they failed to climb out the way they'd fallen in and if the darkness behind them opened into the system of caves, they might have little choice but try for them. He tried to remember if anyone might have seen him heading towards the woods behind the castle. Unfortunately, unless one of the maids had peeked from a window or one of the guards had followed him about from the front gate, it seemed unlikely. But surely someone would notice him missing at some point during the day… At lunch, perhaps? He had been known to stroll down to the town for lunch at the inn. Dinner? The inn…?

Turning his attention back to ragged circle of light above them, Fergus studied the sides of the hole. As he'd suspected when attempting to pull Lucinda out, the walls seemed to lean away from the edges of the hole, their prison being shaped somewhat like a fishbowl, water included. Climbing out would be next to impossible without rope.

Fergus wanted to try anyway. He pulled off his remaining boot and his coat.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to swim over to that wall," he pointed to the stretch of rock that seemed to offer the best prospects for an upward climb, "and see how far up I can get."

"Do you think you should, with that ankle? I could go," Lucinda offered.

"You have already been dunked twice, I can see you shivering. I'll try this time," Fergus answered. Glancing at the pool, he asked, "Any idea how deep this goes?"

She shook her head. "No, I never touched the bottom either time."

Contemplating the dark water, Fergus suppressed the urge to shiver. He did not have an over active imagination, but the idea of a bottomless pool did sound like something out of a story and he could picture _things_ lurking in the murky depths. Shaking off the thoughts, he slipped into the pool and swam to the other side. He hauled himself up the first part of the wall fairly quickly, his sore ankle not bothering him so much as he'd thought it might. Hand holds and foot holds were plenty and he clambered upwards at a steady pace, hope rising in his chest as the air brightened around him and he felt the edge of the gap above drawing close. Then the wall started to curve backwards and he had a harder time clinging to it, the ever increasingly awkward angle beginning to pull on his ankle as he clutched at stones with fingers and toes.

"Are you alright?" Lucinda called over after he'd not moved for a minute or so.

"I am. I'm trying to figure out my next move." Upwards, it should be upwards, of course.

"Be careful…"

Fergus uttered a soft chuckle. "I am trying to be."

He gripped the rock and stone as if his life depended upon it and reached backwards and over his head for the edge of the hole. His fingers brushed the stone there. Extending his arm a little further, he craned his head backwards to better see what he was doing. His good foot started slipping and he tried to adjust the foot supported by his sore ankle. Pebbles loosened, hitting the water with soft plinking sounds, and he felt unbalanced until his fingers curled about the rock ledge above him. Everything held still for a moment, as if time had frozen, and then his feet seemed to just separate from the wall as his body swung outwards. Fergus threw his other hand upwards in an attempt to grasp the hole.

"Fergus!" Lucinda called.

"Hold on…" he gasped, his fingers scraping by the underside of the stone, touching, curling, but failing to catch and his weight hung from one hand only. But not for long. Grunting softly, Fergus tried to flex his elbow and adjust his grip, but his fingers couldn't hold him. Had he'd managed to get all of his hand over the edge, he might have fared better. As it was, he dropped back into the pool, feet first this time, plunging downwards until the water closed over his head, his legs kicking down into nothingness. Surfacing, he shook the water from his eyes and turned about until he saw Lucinda leaning over the edge of the pool, reaching for him. He did not swim towards her.

"I'm alright," he said before she could ask. "I'm going to try again. At this stage, I cannot get any wetter…"

Lucinda pursed her lips and then pressed them together in a line. He could almost hear her voice echoing about the small cavern.

"I'll be careful, Lucinda" he said quietly. She smiled faintly.

He tried again and he fell again. He tried a third time, his toes and fingers now scraped raw from the rocks and the climbing. The second time he managed to get only one hand over the edge again, still not far enough. The third time his muscles protested every reach, his arms and legs trembling as he inched upwards. He threw himself towards the ledge in a desperate attempt to wrap his hand further about the edge, but missed entirely, landing back in the pool with an almighty splash.

"Fergus," he heard as his head broke the surface of the water. "Come out… don't try again."

Treading water for a moment, he looked upwards and noted that the sun had moved directly overhead so that it shone downwards right onto his face. It was midday. By his estimation, he'd been in this hole for about two hours. "I'll take a break." He grudgingly swam towards the ledge and accepted her help to get out of the pool. "I'm sorry, Lucinda," he said with a hefty sigh.

"Call me Lucy," she answered unexpectedly. With a small lift of her shoulders, she clarified her statement. "Lucinda sounds so formal," a shy smile and a glance over her shoulder at the darkness behind him, "and though I am sorry to have pulled you into this mess, I am grateful not to be alone down here."

Fergus chuckled again. "I am happy to be of service, Lucy." Despite the sting of his scraped skin, the renewed throb of his ankle, the cling of wet clothing and the cold that seemed to have seeped into his bones, he seemed to have no trouble finding humour in the situation. It was preferable, at the moment, to the alternative.

"I don't think I'd have any more success than you climbing out, your reach is greater than mine. But perhaps I could scout the cave first?" she said.

"By yourself?"

"Well one of us should stay here, don't you think? To call out, or listen for rescue. To guide the other back?"

She made a certain sort of sense, he supposed, but the thought of her disappearing alone into the blackness disturbed him.

"Are you sure?" he asked. Then he added, "Don't go far… just take a look first, see if you can… see anything." Lucy nodded and turned about, preparing to explore behind them. Just before he disappeared from view, he said quickly, "Be careful."

"I will."

He watched her moving behind him, crawling on her hands and knees as the roof appeared to slope downwards with the back of the ledge. Just as she had receded into the darkness, only her boots visible, Lucy gasped.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, I just put my hand in a puddle," she answered.

After a few more minutes she had disappeared altogether and he could only hear faint shuffling. He called out, "Can you see anything?"

"Not yet. There is a cave back here, that's about all I can tell so far." Some scuffling sounds followed and then she said, "I've found some mushrooms!" She sounded quite pleased and Fergus chuckled. He supposed that to an herbalist they might represent quite the treasure. He was wondering if they might be edible when her voice floated back to him from even further away. "I've dropped down onto a cave floor, it feels like dirt. I think I can feel the air moving past… can you hear me?"

"I hear you." Air moving past? That could indicate a passage or another opening… "Wait there, I'm coming too."

"Alright."

He considered his one boot for a moment and then left it. Clambering through the darkness, Fergus picked his way over the smooth rock shelf until he found the puddle. He chuckled as his hand splashed directly into it and then he pressed forward. Lucy called out every minute or so and he moved towards her voice. As he left the circle of light above the pool, the air seemed to close about him completely, cloaking him in blackness and he experienced a brief sort of panic that he might lose his way completely. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the hole remained a short distance away. He pressed on through the darkness. Then his hands felt an edge and he heard Lucy breathing. Sitting, he turned so that his legs could drop over the ledge and he stood up on the cave floor. He reached out beside him, fingers brushing Lucy's sleeve. Her hand found his, a simple gesture, but the feel of her fingers about his warmed his skin and soothed his apprehension. They were not alone down here, they had each other. Fergus thanked the Maker for that.

"I hope it's not too impertinent of me, Fergus, to hold your hand? I don't want to lose you in the darkness."

"I think it is an excellent idea," he answered and squeezed her fingers gently.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could barely make out the fact they stood in a cavern of sorts. A darker patch towards the opposite side indicated a deeper niche or perhaps a tunnel and that was it. No exit, no more light, no other pools of water.

"What do you think we should do?" Lucy asked.

"Lucy, I am not sure. I don't know if it is safer to stay by the pool and listen, or if we should try to walk out." He shivered at the touch of cool, dry air as it swirled about his ankles. "Walking for a while would warm me up at least. Shall we try?"

He felt her nod in agreement and they set off towards the blackness. It proved to be a passage and they entered it. After turning a corner, a source of light appeared ahead. They moved carefully, but joyfully towards it, only to discover the light came from a small fissure high above their heads. They both gazed at the light with a mixture of hope and gloom before moving on. Two things encouraged them to move forward: the lack of significant openings or forks in the path meant they could find their way back and the occasional cracks and fissures provided enough light to help them along. Sometime after they turned yet another corner and blackness closed about them and Fergus slowed his walk to a shuffling step, grimacing into the darkness as his toes caught another rock. When his ankle began to hurt, his limping step pulled enough on her hand that she tugged at his fingers to stop him.

"Here," she handed him the root in the dark, the familiar scent making identification easy. "Take some more, we need to keep you on your feet, eh?"

"Those mushrooms you found, are they edible?"

"Yes, though I'm afraid this variety doesn't taste much better than elfroot. Shall we have some… lunch?"

Fergus chewed the bitter weed and then tried a mushroom. It tasted like dirt. He took a mouthful of water when Lucy's canteen bumped into his fingers.

After their impromptu meal they made their way forward, rounding two more corners in the narrow tunnel before the walls seemed to fall away from them once more. They'd reached another cavern. Another narrow fissure lit the far end and they walked towards it. It looked wider than the others and Lucy let go of his hand to clamber up the wall part of the way.

"I might be able to fit," she announced.

"Right, hold on."

Elation lifted his voice and Fergus felt it rising in upwards in his chest, tiny bubbles of hope. He moved beneath her and hesitating, placed a hand on her ankle to help pin her to the wall and help her climb up. She moved from his grasp and he encouraged her to stand on his shoulders. After a short argument, she did. The light flickered, faded and then seemed to cut out entirely as her head slipped out of the opening.

"I can see the forest," she called down. Her feet pushed against his shoulders as she struggled to put more of herself outside the hole. "Crap."

"What?"

"It's not wide enough for my shoulders, hold on."

Her weight settled on his shoulders again as she moved down and then slipped an arm through the opening first. Then she moved upwards once more. "Maker's blood!" she cursed and then her weight bore down on him again as she slipped from the hole and grabbed at the wall. Fergus steadied her as she made her way back down.

"I don't fit."

What could he say? "It's alright. We'll find another way. Did you… could you tell where we were?"

"No really. I know the forest well, but I don't usually look at it from that angle." She paused. "Fergus, the sun has passed well overhead. It will be dark in about two hours."

"They will notice I am missing when I do not return after dinner…" Maybe. He had stayed in town late before and with Aedan leaving that day the staff might expect he'd gone to one of the taverns in search of liquor and company. Fergus sighed. "Lucy, I might not be missed until well after dark. I think we'll be spending the night down here."

"Don't you usually walk about with a guard or something?" Her voice sounded a little testy, but he couldn't fault her for it.

"Actually I do, but I left before he could find me this morning. I wanted to be alone."

"Oh." A brief pause and her hand reached for his again, despite the fact they could see each other quite well in the shaft of weak sunlight. She patted at his hand instead of holding it. "I understand."

They took a break and drank from her canteen and then decided to press forward for about an hour. If they did not find an exit or another source of light, they'd come back here. The larger cavern had taken on a somewhat friendlier aspect with its chimney to the sky. After walking for what Fergus estimated might be about an hour, their place slowed by darkness and an uneven floor, he called for them to turn around.

The sunlight had dimmed considerably by the time they returned to the cavern, so much so that when the walls opened outwards once more, he thought they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into another cave, one they'd missed before. But then he caught the grey light in the corner and, moving towards it, they ascertained it was the same fissure. Standing in silence a moment, they listened for any sounds above but heard only the wind through the trees, each other's breath and now and again, varied stomach gurglings.

"Don't suppose you have anything other than elfroot and mushrooms in that bag?"

Lucy chuckled. "Nope. Can I interest you in a mushroom or a mushroom?" Glancing down, she enquired after his ankle. "Do you need some more elfroot?"

"No, it feels fine. I think perhaps all the exercise has kept it loose enough. Alright, let's have… mushrooms."

They sat in the small circle of grey light and dined on mushrooms and water. When the light faded and darkness encompassed them, Fergus reached for her hand.

"They may search for us tonight, but certainly in the morning. We'll be alright."

"I know," she answered, her voice confident and sure.

Fergus felt compelled to break the small silence that arose, almost as if he needed to make sure she still sat next to him, despite the warmth of her fingers in his.

"Will you tell me about your son?" he asked.

He could hear her smile. Her voice lilted. "Bart. That's his name. Well, Bartholomew, but that's such a mouthful! He'll be twelve in the new year. This is the first time he's gone out all week with my dad on the boat. He was so excited. The salmon are running over towards Waking Sea this time of year, so they'll be out about four days, then one there and one back." She paused. "He's a good lad. Minds his manners and looks out for his elders. But he walks about in a daydream. He's always coming home with bruises and scrapes and eggs on his head. It's a good thing I always have poultices on hand. I'm always having to tell him to…"

"Be careful?" Fergus interrupted?

Lucy laughed. "Just so!"

Fergus could hear the pride in her voice. He squeezed her fingers gently in response. He'd seen Bart, he thought, a few times down at the dock with the fishermen. A lanky lad with a shock of brown hair much like his mother's.

"He's a great comfort to me, you know," Lucy continued softly. "After I lost Darren in the Siege, he was all I had. He gave me a reason to keep going." She stopped speaking and Fergus held her hand a little tighter in sympathy. Everyone knew he'd lost his wife and son and so she would know he understood. "Well you tell me about your son?" she asked quietly.

Had Oren lived, he'd be nearly twelve, about the same age as Bart. Fergus didn't realise he'd sighed until he felt the air pass his lips. After hesitating a moment, he said, "He looked just like his mother. He was such a happy child and so curious! He asked on average fifty questions a day I think. He liked to run and climb and fish. I took him fishing near here," he gestured upwards and outwards to where he guessed the river might be. "He talked so much I think he scared all the fish away." He paused for a moment before adding softly, "He'd have been twelve next year also. I still miss him. Even after all this time."

"Of course you do," Lucy said and he could tell she found it perfectly natural that he should miss a boy he'd only known for six or so years. "Our children are a part of us and always will be, no matter where they are."

Fergus liked the sound of that. He often wondered if it was wrong to still hold Oren so close, to think of his son so often. He'd noticed it more when Aedan's children visited Highever. He'd see Rory do something that Oren had done or might have done and he'd remember. But he didn't want to sit in a dark cave and brood, so he sought to move their conversation to a lighter topic.

"Well, thanks to Aedan I have two nephews and a niece."

"Oh, I saw little Rory in the market place, he is so very cute and he looks just like… your brother."

"You can call him Aedan. That's his name. He prefers it to the Warden, you know."

Lucy chuckled. "I imagine he does. Rory looks like you too. And his older boy, Luke is it? He seems lovely young man."

"He is. He really is," Fergus agreed. "And then you have Grace."

"The little princess!"

"That's what he calls her, his little princess."

"Of course he does!" Lucy chuckled. "All little girls are princesses and their fathers had better acknowledge that fact or else!"

Fergus chuckled. "Noted!"

Though all was cloaked in darkness, Fergus didn't feel as if he sat in a deep, dark hole in the ground. He might have been anywhere, chatting to a friend. There seemed to be a light of sorts surrounding them, so long as they talked. He leaned his head back to see if he could spot any stars through the fissure and felt Lucy shifting beside him.

"I think I'm going to lie down and try to sleep," she said.

Though he'd much rather continue talking, even if about mushrooms, he acknowledged the sense in trying to sleep. "Good idea. We may have a long walk ahead of us. I'll sit and listen for a while."

"Alright."

Night sounds soon filled the air, even in the cave. He listened to the distant drip of water, the call of an owl in the forest above, the leaves moving, a deer whistling. Their cloven hooves clattered over some stones before they moved on and a stillness seemed to follow them, the forest falling relatively quiet for a time. Fergus heard Lucy breathing, but could tell she wasn't asleep yet. He could hear the flutter of movement that might be her shivering. It was cold, he realised. He reached for his coat and felt for her in the dark. He touched her shoulder and then slipped the coat over her.

"Thank you, but you'll get cold, Fergus."

He would, but he continued tucking the coat around her.

"Will you lie behind me? We could… keep each other warm," she said quietly.

"Lucy," he started and then he sighed softly. Again, she made sense. Sliding down onto the floor beside her, he felt about until he touched her arm. "I'll have you know I'm not in the habit of sleeping with woman after one date," he said with a quiet chuckle.

He felt her shoulder move as she chuckled. "I know you don't. You are a proper gentleman, Fergus," she answered. "I've heard stories about your brother though."

Fergus grinned. "Oh?" He'd heard them all too, he supposed and his grin widened as he imagined Aedan caught in a cave with a young lady. His brother's idea of keeping warm would have involved a lot less clothing. Of course, all that had changed when he met Leliana.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Lucy said sleepily, "But people change, don't they?"

That they did. Fergus lay down beside her and wrapped his arm loosely about her midsection.

"You are warm," Lucy murmured.

"So are you," he answered.

It felt odd to be holding a woman, familiar, yet not. Lucy was shorter than Oriana and a little wider around the middle, though how he remembered what his wife's waist had felt like slipped behind his reasoning. Instead of jasmine, Lucy's hair smelled of the forest. He didn't know if she used a soap that smelled of pine or if it came from her wandering about with the herb collecting and trapping. After the initial oddness, however, he relaxed and found himself grateful for her presence and her warmth. He was glad she'd not had to spend the night down here alone. Even if he'd failed to rescue her, he'd at least provided her with his company – a dubious exchange, but one she'd accepted with humour and equanimity.

"We'll find a way out tomorrow," he whispered after a small while.

Her soft and even breath was his only answer.


	3. Wandering Memories

Wandering Memories

Fergus dreamed first of the Korcari Wilds. He and Travers and the small contingent of men they'd taken on a scouting mission had been cut off from the rest of the King's army by a roving band of darkspawn. They lost two of their number fighting the creatures and both he had Travers had taken light wounds. The mages at Ostagar told them to wash any wounds promptly with water and they did so before resuming their patrol, determined to find the source of the band of darkspawn so they could report back to King Cailan.

A second group of the foul creatures had fallen upon them and they were so lucky in the second battle. Fergus had been wounded badly enough that Travers feared to move him. His armour was sundered, several ribs were fractured, one puncturing his lung. The bone of his shield arm was broken in three places and a blow to his helm knocked him unconscious for the better part of two days. Travers had also been injured; a gash through his armour and into his shoulder that looked so horrific, both men had feared he would lose his arm. Of their original band of six men, only three of them survived that battle. The third, Ser Maitland, made it out of the wilds with them only to die when they retook Highever.

The Chasind saved them in the wilds. A healer tended their wounds, a swamp witch, Maitland called her. But despite magic being used, it still took weeks for the men to regain their strength. The old woman did not have a large pool of mana, or the discipline of a circle mage. It took her several days to deal with their injuries one by one and she did not use magic at all in some instances. Fergus had heard tales of Wilder mages whose power equaled tower trained mages, but apparently this clan was not possessed of one of these more powerful healers. He never doubted that they might have died without the care they did receive though, and he thanked the clan then and afterwards the Maker, often.

Eventually they were well enough to travel and returned to Ostagar. Of course, they found nothing but destruction. And then began the long journey back to Highever, dodging darkspawn and Loghain's men, only to find his childhood home in the clutches of Rendon Howe and his family slain. It wasn't until a Landsmeet was called that he found out that not only was Aedan still alive, but led the King's army in the name of Alistair Theirin, the royal bastard. He'd had his hands full ridding Highever of Howe's men and hadn't made the journey to Denerim until the coronation, as Teyrn, a title he'd not been ready to hold.

In his dream, Fergus found himself in the hut that had been his home for the weeks it had taken for his bones to set properly. Sitting beside him was the witch, an old woman who had yet to take an apprentice.

"Why do you have no apprentice?" he asked her.

He cringed at his own impertinence, stunned that the words had passed his lips.

"I do have one."

"He is not here with you, how is he learning?" How had he known it was a 'he'?

"He is out there," she said, gesturing the wilds. "Learning."

"But shouldn't you be teaching him?"

"I have taught him a little."

"Then how will he learn the rest?" Fergus asked.

"By doing."

"But what if he does it wrong?"

"Then he will do it another way." She sounded confident in the way only an elder can.

The interior of the hut changed and Fergus found himself in the library at Highever. His father sat across the table from him.

Fergus asked, "Why won't you let Aedan come with me?"

"He is not ready."

"I am not ready, yet you are sending me at the head of your men."

"You have learned all I can teach, Fergus. Now you have to do the rest on your own."

He felt that combination of pride and fear, the same as he'd felt that day, the last day he'd seen his father alive.

"This is your time, Fergus. I have every confidence in you."

"Father…"

Fergus opened his eyes. At first he thought he'd returned to the hut in the wilds. The cool, dry atmosphere tickled his nose in a familiar way and he lay on the floor, something bundled within his arms. Glancing upwards, he the ragged patch of sky above the rough chimney and memory returned him to the cave with a thud. He had his coat tangled about his arms and he lay on the dirt floor of a cavern. But where was Lucy? For an absurd moment he thought she might have been a part of his dream, but then he saw her satchel just behind the patch of light on the ground and soon after he heard her footsteps as she returned.

"Morning, my lord," she said brightly.

Sitting up, Fergus bowed his head and said in return, "Morning, my lady."

Lucy chuckled. "Well aren't we formal. Doesn't make up for the cold, bare accommodations though, does it."

Fergus laughed and Lucy blushed then laughed, covering her mouth with both hands. "Fergus," she said finally, her voice a strangled squeak. "Oh, pardon me; I do _not_ know what possessed me."

Grinning, he stood up and brushed off his clothes before waving off her apology. "No, you are right! I will have to find another way to make it up to you."

"No, Fergus, no. I didn't mean…"

"It would be the least I could do, after failing to rescue you properly. I will treat you to dinner, my lady," he bowed and chuckled, feeling silly, but continuing anyway, "We'll sit in real chairs and eat whatever you like, except mushrooms."

Lucy chuckled and gave her satchel a pointed look. "Speaking of which, fancy some breakfast?"

Fergus groaned.

After their meal of mushrooms, Fergus hoisted Lucy up through the fissure again to see if she could see anything – castle walls, dogs, people…

"If you see a rabbit, see if you can lure it closer," he suggested.

She shook with laughter, one of her boots slipping against his shoulder.

"You'll not catch one making all that noise," he called up.

When he let her back down, she grinned up at him and asked, "Are you always this cheerful in the mornings?"

"No. Usually I've had too much ale and have a sore head."

Lucy tsked and laughed again.

"You think I'm kidding?" He chuckled. "Well, I am a bit," he admitted. "Now that Aedan is gone I've no one to drink with every night, so I suppose better mornings are on my horizon!"

"Oh, I've heard stories about you and Travers…"

"Who keeps telling you all these stories?"

"Travers…"

Fergus grumbled. "He's supposed to be a knight, discreet, you know."

"Oh, he is. He won't tell me what happened that night the four of you got locked in the larder, with one of the kitchen maids, who happened to have a lovely little daughter eight months later…"

He blinked at her. People thought…?

"She rescued us, she wasn't actually in the larder with us…" for very long, or long enough… "and babies usually take nine months, you know."

"I heard she was very small."

"Well it's not mine." The baby didn't belong to any of them, so far as he knew, or at least, it hadn't been conceived that night. But obviously that hadn't stopped the rumours flying.

"No, she doesn't look much like your or Aedan."

"This is a highly inappropriate topic of conversation, you know…" He tried to look stern.

Lucy threw back her head and laughed. "Inappropriate to… dirt floors and rocky walls? You have no shoes on."

Fergus looked down and felt his mouth twitch. "Well, when I take you to dinner, my lady, I will wear shoes, and we'll have no such talk of pantries and kitchen maids."

"And no mushrooms."

"And no mushrooms," he readily agreed.

In a gentlemanly gesture, he offered her his arm. Lucy smiled at him and he looked at her face in the filtered light that slanted down through the chimney. She had hazel eyes, he noticed, just like her brother, and they were bright with humour and well being despite the smudges across her cheeks and the state of her hair. She had a heart shaped face with a narrow chin, full cheeks and a high forehead. He'd seen her in better repair and knew that beneath the dirt she had freckles across her nose and that when tamed, her brown curls framed her face in an attractive way. He had a feeling, however, that he would long remember her as she looked now – disheveled, wild, and yet somehow happy.

"You do realise," he said quietly, "that dinner is not until we find a way out of these caves."

She slipped her arm through his. "Then we had better get a move on, hadn't we?"

The headed again towards the dark passage of the day before and as they slowly navigated the inky blackness, Fergus let his mind wander back to the time the four of them – he, Aedan, Roland and Travers – had got locked in the larder.

The castle had been quiet. The elder Couslands had left to visit Denerim, leaving him in charge. That late in the season there'd been little other to do than break into his father's brandy collection and keep Aedan and Roland from burning the castle down. He'd been twenty five and both Aedan and Roland had been seventeen.

Travers joined him for an after dinner drink (another excuse to try a different bottle of brandy) and they saw Aedan and Roland saunter past the dining room door looking altogether too nonchalant. They had to follow, of course. The younger pair paused before the kitchen and tried to shoo them away.

"We're just getting something to eat," Aedan said, eyeing the kitchen nervously.

"Right, and maybe a drink," Rory had added, looking horribly guilty. Aedan had been a better liar as a youth, oddly. Rory had never been adept.

"You just had dinner," Fergus pointed out.

Travers lifted his glass, which he'd thoughtfully brought with him. Ever pragmatic, Travers was. "Come have a drink with us."

Aedan made a face. "I don't like brandy."

"So what's in the kitchen then?"

"Food?" Aedan quipped, his expression turning rather cheeky.

Travers got right to the point. "Boys, you either tell us what you're up to or you come drink brandy with us. It's not so terrible a choice…"

It also hadn't really made sense? But then again, they were on to their third glass.

Rory crumbled, earning a glare from Aedan. "There's a book, in the pantry. We just wanted to get it."

"A book?" Fergus asked.

"Not the sort a gentleman would want to keep in his room, perhaps?" Travers guessed.

The blush on both faces suggested he'd hit his mark.

Of course all of them went in to look at the book. Why hadn't they taken it back to the dining room or the library? No one was going to catch them with it that late at night. Probably because Aedan started eating, he'd always had an appetite even before becoming a Warden. Travers saw the cheese and suggested that it would go well with the brandy and left to get the bottle. Rory collapsed onto the flour sacks with the book and Fergus found a cask of ale. In retrospect, not a lot of what they did when they were young made sense…

Travers, being the careful sort, closed the door after himself when he returned, the lock clicking into place to joint yells from both Aedan and Rory.

"Don't close the door!"

"Why?"

"The lock is broken!"

How did they know this? Copious visits to the book, no doubt. In between jiggling the useless handle and having it fall off in one of their hands, brandy was poured, ale drunk and cheese eaten. The book provided all the entertainment the impromptu party needed. It wasn't until one of them expressed a need to relieve themselves that they'd really become concerned about the door. It took an hour of banging and yelling to rouse the maid that came to their rescue and by that time three of them had used a mixing bowl set into the corner as a privy. That had been… embarrassing.

Nan had screamed over that more than the fact they'd eaten half a wheel of cheese, two loaves of bread, a jar of pickled vegetables (he could always remember her mentioning them, but not actually having eaten them) and managed to puncture two flour sacks.

Fergus chuckled.

Lucy brought him back to the present. "Copper for your thoughts? A silver if they're that amusing."

"I was thinking about the larder, and Aedan. He was such a contrast, even as a boy. Serious one minute and completely disarming the next."

"I'd say he's not changed much then."

"In many ways, not at all…" But he had. Fergus knew his younger brother was still there, still essentially the same man, but, Maker… he'd never seen anyone so broken. Yet underneath it all he was still so …Aedan. A fierce wave of love for his little brother washed through him then, and he sent a fervent prayer to the Maker for the well being of his little brother, Leliana and their children. They were all he had.

Lucy squeezed his hand, which she'd been holding in the dark. "He's a good man, like you. He'll make a good Teyrn."

Once again he smiled into the darkness. "Like me?"

He heard her chuckle. "Do you doubt it?"

"All the time, Lucy."

She remained silent for a moment and he feared he had overstepped, admitted something he should not have. Finally she replied. "It may have come upon you unexpectedly, but you rose to the challenge. Highever holds you in great esteem, Fergus."

He remembered his dream, his father's words: _This is your time, Fergus. I have every confidence in you._

"Thank you," he answered quietly.

After another bout of silence, the companionable sort, Fergus noted the passage looked less dark ahead and he pointed it out to Lucy. They quickened their pace as best as they could given the dark, the uneven floor and the fact that he wore no shoes. He stubbed his toe for about the thirtieth time and hissed.

"Your ankle?"

"My toes."

The now familiar scent of elfroot wafted through the air.

"I don't need it."

"Are you sure?"

"Lucy, if we're stuck down here for much longer, we might have to save it for dinner." A soft grunt greeted his comment and he followed up with, "Not funny, I know."

The passage brightened as they turned a corner and Fergus glanced up to see yet another fissure above their heads. The light shining through was a dispirited grey and Fergus smelled the rain before they saw it. They paused beneath the crack in the rock and let the water trickle over their faces.

It felt wonderful. Fergus stepped back to let Lucy wash her face and then he did the same. They grinned at each other in the vague light, unreasonably happy to be standing under a small trickle of water and a crack of grey sky. Lucy had wet her hair a little and strands stuck to her cheeks and Fergus reached out to smooth one back, the gesture totally unconscious. Her skin felt cool and damp beneath his fingers and she dropped her eyes and moved to smooth the rest of her hair away from her cheek in a nervous gesture. Fergus dropped his fingers in embarrassment.

He cleared his throat to apologise and then he heard… barking.

His heart leapt in his chest, he knew the sound immediately and so did Lucy. The hounds.

"They are looking for you."

"Maybe they are looking for you," he quipped and she chuckled. Assuming a more serious mien, he said, "Lucy, I don't think they will hear us down here, or be able to find us from this fissure. We either need to move forward or go back to that wider hole."

"How long do you think we've been walking?"

"About two hours."

"Let's go forward a bit."

He agreed with her – if they went back to the other cavern, they'd never make the original hole in the ground by nightfall and without the cracks and occasional chimney to light their way, they might wander in circles all night.

Half an hour later they stumbled into another cavern, one not lit by a fissure, but they could feel the space opening about them. They walked around the wall and Fergus kicked something that was not a rock. It felt light, wooden. He bent down to retrieve it and discovered a cluster of objects – a sack, some straw, a stack of wood that felt so dry some of it seemed to crumble beneath his fingers, and a dagger, rusted by the feel. Fergus knew where he was.

"Lucy, I know where we are."

"You do?"

"Yes, I've found one of our stashes, Aedan's and mine. We used to bring stuff to the caves with us. This stuff might have been here for… fifteen or twenty years."

"What did you find?" She sounded excited.

Fergus felt through the sack and found what he'd been looking for, the flint and steel. Handing her one of the old pieces of wood he wrapped straw about the end and then struck a spark. It caught immediately, the desiccated straw flaring brightly and burning quickly. Using the small amount of light, he surveyed the rest of the objects on the floor and found a stack of proper torches, their pitch ends still black. He lit one and set it into a niche carved into the wall for it and they both blinked in the flickering light.

Her face had become familiar to him over the past two days and he noted immediately the differences lent by the warmer light of the torch. But rather than study her too long, still feeling discomfited by his earlier gesture, he looked down instead, towards the stack of wood and torches.

"Do you remember the way out from here?" Lucy asked.

"Not offhand, I think we're about half a day's walk in though."

She nodded. "What about the nearest chimney or crack?" So they could alert the searchers.

Fergus twisted his mouth a moment and rubbed at his forehead. He turned on his heel and scanned the far side of the cavern. A dark opening indicated the continuation of the system of tunnels beneath the rock that connected these caverns. "It's been too long. There are many though, we'll find one. It's what always drew us to these caves; we could walk so far in without carrying torches."

"But you brought some anyway?"

Fergus chuckled at the memory. "We were planning a deeper expedition." Nodding at the sack he said, "There is probably a decade old wheel of cheese and a petrified loaf of bread in that sack.

Lucy almost looked interested and he laughed.

They found a fissure wide enough to yell through about half an hour later and Fergus climbed the wall, digging his raw and scraped toes into the rock and grasping at crevices with his fingers until his he got as high as he could. Then he listened. He could hear the dogs, somewhat distantly. Had they been able to follow his scent to the original hole or had the rain already obscured it? He yelled.

"Ho!"

He had no idea if anyone heard him and he felt somewhat ridiculous yelling up into the rock, but he kept it up for about half an hour. The barking began to veer towards them, but he couldn't hold onto the wall any longer, his toes had gone numb and his fingers had cramped. He dropped to the floor and then took off his coat and climbed again and started stuffing it up through the crack in the rock, using the end of an unlit torch to push it beyond the reach of his arm until it emerged into the forest, a beacon of blue cloth and hopefully, smell. The dogs would catch it.

They did.

He heard them approach and he climbed again.

"Hello!"

"My lord?"

He could hear the confusion as they apparently spoke to a coat that stuck in crack in the ground. The coat moved and then slipped from the hole and three whiskered muzzles replaced it. Fergus grinned at the sight and called down to Lucy.

"It's them, they've found us."

Back through the hole he called. "Yes, it's Fergus. I fell down one of the sink holes near the mouth of the river. I'm here with Lucinda Ryan and we are both well." He'd save the explanation – his failed rescue – for later. "Do you know the large cave entrance behind the hill, the one near the orchards? We will emerge from there in approximately four hours." Less if he could help it.

"Yes, my lord. We'll send someone in from that way to find you."

Fergus dropped down to the ground and Lucy's arms swept about him in a quick hug. He hugged her back and felt her bounce lightly in the circle of his arms.

"We are saved!" she said before letting him go, stepping back, her cheeks lightly flushed.

He grinned widely at her and said, "Don't thank me yet, we've still a few hours to go."

They stood smiling at each other, both seeming to fairly vibrate with happiness and relief.

"I suppose we should stop grinning like idiots and start walking," Lucy said.

"Did you just call the Teyrn an idiot?"

Lucy chuckled beneath her blush. "I think I just did."

Fergus laughed quietly. "Come on, let's go. My stomach is cramping thinking about what's in Nan's pantry."

"Hopefully something other than a filthy book." Lucy murmured.

"He told you about the book too?"

Lucy's chuckles lifted his spirits further and buoyed his step and with the torch they made good time; he didn't have to shuffle along with his bruised toes and they could walk at a near normal pace. After an hour they came to an intersection and Fergus hesitated. He chose left, letting instinct guide him and after they walked for an hour without interruption, he knew he'd made the right choice. The other direction, he seemed to remember, led to another cavern and probably another stash of moldy cheese and hard bread.

Another hour and Fergus found it hard to keep his pace even as his excitement built. He began leaning forward as he walked and craning his head about every rock as if he expected to see light or the mouth of the cave. The passage hadn't widened quite enough yet. He recalled that the first part of the system of caves was quite airy and properly cavernous.

They didn't talk a lot as they walked, except to pass the occasional comment on a feature they passed. An unusual rock formation, a small pool where they stopped again to drink and grudgingly eat more mushrooms, and the odd crack and fissure that allowed in the grey mist that had obviously settled over the forest as a result of the rain above.

Men waited over the chimneys and fissures here and there and called down encouragement.

The passage began to widen at last and Fergus said, "We're nearly there!"

Then he turned a corner and stopped, dumbfounded. Rock piled in front of him, tumbled from the ceiling and he could see the sky where the ground had opened into what had obviously started as a sink hole and had finally ended as a wall of rock that sealed the caves. But maybe the hole above was wide enough…

"Fergus?"

Handing her the torch he said, "There has been a cave in, but maybe we can climb up there." He pointed to the distant circle of grey light.

He climbed, his hands and feet protesting every inch, but he knew even before he reached the top that he'd not fit. Lucy might. He called out. "Hello!"

"My lord?" A voice answered almost right away. "There's been a cave in. We're going to dig you out, sit tight, please. We've sent to the castle for some food and blankets."

"Right," Fergus answered weakly. It would take them all night to dig them out, and perhaps a good part of the next day. But the thought of walking back to the other side of the hill, where they'd first fallen into the caves, exhausted him, left him feeling flatter than a rug.

Lucy seemed to share his dispirited mood and they sat side by side in the dim grey light after the torch finally guttered and burned out.

After a while, Fergus said, "Lucy… I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Fergus."

"We could have gone back the other way."

She didn't answer for a moment and then she shuffled across the floor a bit so that she sat right next to him. She felt warm and comfortable against his side and he could smell the woodsy scent of her hair. He looked over at her and she tentatively leaned her head against his shoulder. Quietly she said, "But we didn't and that's alright." Her lips quirked up in a small smile. "Who's to say there isn't a serpent at the bottom of that pool and that more of our splashing might have disturbed it enough to finally wake it? Might have swallowed us whole!"

"You… have quite the imagination…"

"What I'm trying to say…" she chuckled softly, "is that we made a choice. It was a bit more important than if I should wear the brown boots or the black boots, but ultimately, I was still going to walk in them, wasn't I? We're still here, Fergus. We're well, and healthy, and sick of mushrooms and your feet are a mess," she dug into her pack and pulled out more of the bitter root, "and I'm tired and dirty, and I can't seem to stop talking…"

Fergus leaned forward and then stopped, realising he'd been about to kiss her. Her words dropped away and they blinked at one another for a moment before Fergus lifted a finger to brush something from her cheek. Dropping his hand, he leaned away from her and pretended to study his hands.

Clearing his throat, he said quietly, "Lucy, I didn't mean to be so familiar."

She bit her lip, a mannerism he'd not seen her use before. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she returned his gaze. Finally she said, "It's alright…" One side of her mouth crooked up in a half smile. "I am in the company of the gentlemanly Cousland, aren't I?" Her voice was soft, amused, but he detected something else, a tone he could not quite discern.

"That you are." He reached down and took her hand. Her fingers curled warmly about his.

She gazed over into the darkness for a while and when she looked back, it seemed a veil had slipped away her features. He saw another side of Lucy, not the confident and amiable woman he'd spent the last two days with, but a more vulnerable one. "It will be different when we return," she said softly. "It's like we've been in our own world here, with no one else to tell us who we are and where we stand. I nearly forgot you were the Teyrn." She paused. "What I'm trying to say is… I'm not sure if this," she looked down at their hands, "is such a good idea."

He supposed she was right; they didn't really know one another that well, circumstances had thrown them together. Or perhaps his nobility intimidated her, though it hadn't seemed to up until that point. But he was well aware of what village gossip would do to her reputation if…

"I understand." Unclasping her hand, he patted it softly and stood and moved back to the tumbled rock to await their supplies. He'd been caught up in the moment, he told himself. Once they made it out of the cave, things would return to normal. They would go their separate ways. She would return to the town and her son and he would go back to the castle by himself. He glanced over at her and saw she was looking at him. He smiled and she smiled back, a warm smile, a friendly smile. One he had become used to over the past two days.

"You will come to dinner, won't you?" he asked, wondering if she would hear the hope in his tone. "You can bring your son, or we could wait for Travers to return." A proper chaperone.

"I wouldn't miss it, Fergus."

And then she gave him a gift, a quick glimpse of an expression somewhat like his own, that same hopefulness. He wondered if he'd imagined it, the look had been so fleeting, but decided to believe he had not. Leliana would tell him he had not… His smile widened as he thought of his sister. The minstrel would love this story and she would encourage him to continue into the next chapter.


	4. A Return to Ordinary

A Return to Ordinary

Fergus dropped his pen and rubbed at his eyes. He was not tired, merely distracted, and had been for over a week now. He found whenever a task did not fully engage him, or even sometimes when it did, his thoughts drifted back towards the cave, the two day walk and the company of an extraordinary woman.

Highever men worked through the night, and after taking some rest themselves, he and Lucy worked from their end, loosening what they could, piling rocks behind themselves and climbing over increasingly slippery gravel and loose stone in order to chip their way towards freedom. Shortly before dawn a chink of torchlight broke through and then a face obscured their view, a face as grimy and tired as their own, yet filled with the same relief and joy.

"My lord," the face stated, almost questioningly, and Fergus recognised the man at last. Ser Hugh, one of his knights.

"I am here, ser," he replied, showing his face as properly as he could. "Hugh, thank you."

"Ah, Fergus," the man murmured, "You're not out yet. We'll have our thanks and some ale for breakfast, eh?"

Two more hours saw them free, the pair squeezing through a gap barely large enough for Lucy, let alone his larger frame, but the fresh air and the promise of freedom beyond had him expelling all air from his lungs, turning his shoulders, losing more skin from his knees and elbows and somehow scrabbling through. He tumbled down the other side to shouts of alarm from his men and an amused gasp from Lucy, then stood and spread his arms in a somewhat theatrical gesture that reminded him of Aedan.

"I am alright," he intoned solemnly and then his face creased into a grin like no other as he drew deep lungfuls of dust laden air, really no less dank than that behind him, but somehow full of promise, because he had won free of the caves. Turning to Lucy, he inspected her silently for a moment, the men distracted by loosening more rock in order to retrieve the few items they had left behind. He found her whole and peaceful, her face lit with a smile as wide as his own. Though he wanted to reach for her hand, he did not. The urge to hug her passed slowly and he dared not move for fear of giving in to it, knowing the gesture, though perhaps understandable after what had passed, might be misinterpreted. Standing and smiling at one another was enough, for the moment, and soon enough men fussed about the pair of them, ushering them from the caves with blankets wrapped about their shoulders and tin mugs of hot tea thrust into their hands.

The smell of cooked breakfast enticed and Fergus smiled to see Lucy apply herself to the eggs and sausage as heartily as he did. And there was ale, as promised, a lightly fermented brew that tasted better than the tea and the sausages, in his opinion. The men put on a proper campfire feast, grilling bread, tomatoes and even mushrooms to accompany the meal. When offered a ladleful of the sliced fungus, Fergus shook his head and Lucy nearly choked on her mouthful, before swallowing, the movement obviously paining her, then laughing. He laughed along with her and the men looked back and forth between them as if they were mad.

"We have eaten nothing but mushrooms for two days, ser," Fergus explained and the cook nodded in understanding, a smile replacing his bafflement.

"I'm thinking they'll be off the menu for a while then," he replied.

"For a while." Fergus actually liked mushrooms, but nothing ruined a food better than the memory of dry and somewhat tasteless mouthfuls, the crunch of dirt and the knowledge that the next meal would consist of the same, but for the added bitterness of elfroot.

At the thought of the healing herb, Fergus extended his bare foot and prepared to examine his ankle. The sight of his ragged pant leg and grimy skin had him laughing again, almost senselessly as he first imagined, then glanced down to see what the rest of him looked like.

"I am a mess!" he managed to get out and this time everyone laughed along, appreciating that he did not look at all like a Teyrn. Though he dressed better than Aedan, and always had, he did not usually opt for overly frilly garments. But now he looked as if he worked in the mines, or something worse. A pair of socks and boots were provided and the men even offered to boil water for washing before they began the walk back to the castle.

Fergus deferred to Lucy who said, "I just want to get home, if all of you can pretend I look otherwise."

The men laughed good-naturedly and she was given a jacket to wear over her tunic and pants. "You're as good as one of us, madam," Hugh responded and really, she was. No one looked much cleaner, given the work of excavating the cave entrance and a night spent rough.

As they prepared to leave, Lucy enquired after his ankle. "Is it sound?"

"It is, Maker be thanked. I think it was only a strain and not a proper sprain." He paused before offering her an ironic grin. "Had I gone home and put it up, it may have been stiffer for not being used. It seems two days exercise was the proper prescription." Lowering his voice, he said, "The elfroot helped, I am sure, though I'll never be able to down a poultice without remembering the taste of that bitter herb alone, ever again."

She chuckled and patted at her satchel. "I'm glad I had a more practical use other than causing the Teyrn to become lost for two days."

Words seemed to press against his tongue then and Fergus closed his lips and smiled instead. He wanted to offer reassurances and compliment her company. He would like to tell her he'd enjoyed so many aspects of their adventure and that he might have never made such a friend otherwise, that he hoped they could be, or remain friends. But the awkward moment from the evening before replayed across his memory and he deferred. Her gaze did not leave his, however, and he felt that she might have heard the words anyway.

The two hour walk back to Castle Cousland passed both slowly and swiftly. Conversation ranged over many topics and Fergus smiled at the congenial nature of his men. They spoke to him as an equal and included Lucy in their talk. They knew her, of course, probably better than he did. Travers was well liked among his comrades and his sister visited the barracks on occasion.

He saw the grey stone before they reached the edge of the woods and his chest did a curious thing, it both compressed and expanded at the same time. He'd felt it before, this mixture of emotion, when he'd returned to Highever from the Wilds. He had known then that Howe's men held his home and his family had been slain, and he, Travers and Maitland had approached from this very direction, having set up camp not far from the caves. He remembered this view and it caught him now and again when he wandered the woods, the glimpses of grey stone between the treetops, the occasional flutter of flags. The Cousland pennant soon came into view where he'd seen the Howe heraldry five years before and Fergus could not help but remember the long battle to retake the castle.

After spying on the castle for a week, they had infiltrated the town and met with the resistance. Fergus would never forget his profound relief on finding the townsfolk still mostly loyal to his family. He had felt their relief in turn, that he lived and had returned. Knights had been gathered, those who had not been at the castle that fateful night, and emissaries were dispatched to the surrounding bannorn. Almost every able bodied man had been called upon during the civil war and the Blight and Fergus had retaken his home with a handful of knights and poorly armed farmers. They succeeded because of two fortunate happenings. A Landsmeet had been called and Howe had gone to Denerim to further spread his poison, taking his strongest supporters with him, and no one knew Fergus had survived Ostagar. His campaign came as a surprise. Still it had been a bloody battle and more lives had been lost, one being Maitland's, before Highever fell into Cousland hands once again.

Too soon it was time to say goodbye to Lucy and again Fergus stood awkwardly, hands pressed to his sides, face an immobile mask beneath the fatigue and grime. Lucy stepped forward and offered her hand in a polite gesture and he took it, held it, considered raising it to his lips, then did not, simply shaking her small hand instead, as he would a man's.

"Thank you for everything, Fergus," she said and he smiled, happy she had called him by name rather than something more formal.

"And thank you, Lucy. Maker watch over you," he offered.

"You as well."

He dropped her hand and she turned.

"Lucy?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she answered, "Yes?"

"I will…" they were surrounded by men at arms, "…I will let you know when I hear from Travers."

A nod, a smile, and she rounded the gate and the wall and disappeared from view. The courtyard seemed empty without her.

He tried to return to his routine, but found it difficult. He slept much of the day away, then indulged in entirely too much brandy that night which led him to sleep away a good portion of the next day. Business intruded on the third day and Fergus pulled himself out of a daydream to attend to the task of mediating a dispute between two Banns. Something about cows or sheep, or had it been pigs? Or a wall? He could not remember and his mind drifted twice during the discussions and again as the agreement was negotiated.

"So the wall between the pigs has to be at least two feet high then," he finally said in an attempt to focus.

"Sheep, my lord. Pigs don't jump. Besides, we keep them close to the keep, they don't wander about like sheep…"

Jumping sheep and wandering pigs. What were they talking about?

Two days later he sat in his study and stared at a bookcase for an hour before he realised he'd drifted once again. He'd been thinking about the trek through the caves, but not as something he'd rather forget. Instead he'd be remembering conversations and Lucy's various moods and facial expressions. He was not used to being distracted by a woman, particularly not one whose hair needed taming and whose face was streaked with dirt.

He had been slightly distracted by a young woman two years earlier, a daughter of one of the banns, she had flirted shamelessly with him during the entire week of their stay. He'd enjoyed the attention at first, had been flattered by it, and had even considered courting the young woman, acknowledging the fact that both marriage and an heir would be a prudent course of action. Idle gossip had diverted his course, however. He'd been in the treasury, apportioning out wages, a task he liked to do himself, the methodical counting and accounting a soothing task, and he'd heard maids talking. He'd heard them before, in just the same way. The family bedrooms were situated behind the treasury, Aedan's first, and the small guest suite next to it and there were vents in the stone walls. The maids disparaged both the girl and his attention. Apparently she'd tried the same ploy elsewhere and had a certain reputation. Aedan would have known, of course. His younger brother had a talent for reading women. Fergus had thanked the Maker his cheeks could heat and colour in private and then he had worked to defer her attention.

Of course, the last time he'd found himself staring at bookcases had been shortly after he met Oriana. The merchant's daughter had captivated more than his imagination. He felt the tug of old grief and, flicking his gaze away from the multi-hued spines, Fergus focused on the documents in front of him once more. A simple agreement, about trade this time, not pigs, and he read it to the end and signed off on it before allowing his mind to wander again.

Another day passed and he thought he'd regained his focus until Hugh tapped at the neck band of his armour with his sword.

"My lord?"

"Hm?"

"I just decapitated you."

Fergus glanced down at the sword point. "So you did."

"Are you well?"

Shaking off his distraction, Fergus answered in the affirmative and applied himself to his training. He actually enjoyed his bout with Hugh and conceded he did not test himself against the dual wielding rogue enough. Travers and he often traded shield bash for bash and strike for strike and called it a day. Not that they did not get an effective work out, but they had known each other for over twenty years, and enjoyed testing the other's technique. And then they usually retired together afterwards, for brandy or a game of cards or both.

A letter awaited him in his study and Fergus broke the seal, recognizing Travers's hand, knowing that if his knight had penned the missive he lived, but wondering, nonetheless, what had caused him to write a week sooner than expected. He read about the ambush upon Aedan's party with dread, and Peter's possible tainting with a sinking heart. Dropping the thin parchment atop his desk, Fergus closed his eyes and allowed his thoughts to drift in another direction entirely, towards his brother.

Aedan had looked well as he'd set out from Highever, and really, he'd been well. Physically. Though still a trifle thin, his stamina had returned and he'd met every strike in the practice yard, his agility surprising as always. Though not as fast as a rogue, Aedan moved quickly, surely, and with the confidence of a man who had fought long and hard, often and well. His brother often tried to shrug off his talent with dual blades, citing other warriors as his superior. He'd even told Fergus that Leliana had bested him in Val Royeaux, kicking him to the dirt. Not to undermine the bard's talent with her daggers, Fergus knew that had Aedan been in peak form, she never might have accomplished such. He'd kept his thoughts to himself, however, recognizing that Aedan needed to reaffirm his skill on his own.

So while he was not surprised to hear none of his men had been injured in the attack and he still worried for Aedan and Leliana. Apparently she had killed two men in the ambush, he could imagine how upsetting it might have been for her to defend her children in such a manner, but thanked the Maker she had the skill and the guts. Of course, his mind wanted to drift towards Oriana then, and her refusal to learn a martial art, but he held resolutely to the letter upon his desk. How did Aedan fare after the intrusion of his old life upon the new? Not well, he imagined. His heart went out to his brother, knowing the internal struggle he would wage and further guessing its effect on the relationship between man and wife.

"They will see it through," he said softly. "They are adored by an entire nation. No one will allow this to touch them, let alone tear them apart." Nodding softly, as if to confirm his arguments to as unseen audience, Fergus folded the letter and slipped it into his desk.

He stopped in at the small chapel then, and offered prayers for Peter and his family and then he walked to the castle gates, carried there by restless legs and wandering thoughts. Casting a quick gaze over his clothing, Fergus returned to his room to change, telling himself he had an ink stain on his pants, that his shirt reeked of sweat and steel. Then he set off towards the village, something he often did, to take a drink at the tavern, knowing he'd find both company and companionship. Hugh elected to play the role of guard and friend and Fergus welcomed the man, knowing he would keep his own council as they walked.

He denied to even himself that he hoped to see Lucy until he found himself taking the long way towards the inn, skirting the cliffs and walking behind the seaside cottages, wondering exactly which one she lived in. He composed a greeting in his head, something casual, not overly formal, just in case he ran into her. "I wanted some air, I am on my way to town, the view from here is worth the detour, were you on your way to the tavern…" But he did not see her. He supposed he might enquire after her to relate the news from Travers's letter but realised that it did not really concern her, though he knew she'd offer her proper sympathies.

Stopping at the end of the line of cottages, he cursed the awkwardness of his situation. He liked her, Maker damn it, and he wanted to see her again. Why could he not just ask her to the castle as he might any acquaintance? Because he was a noble and she was not and ironically, his status protected him more than it did her. Oriana had not been noble, but he'd at least had her father's permission to court her. The proper and correct thing to do would be to wait for Travers to return and express his interest. Gentlemen conducted their affairs in that manner; they did not skulk behind cliff side cottages hoping for a glimpse of brown hair, hazel eyes and a bright smile.

Hugh kept a silent vigil at his side and Fergus exchanged a quick glance with the man, an even quicker smile.

"Well, the air is as fresh as I thought it might be, shall we repair to the inn?"

"As you wish, Fergus."

Hugh knew why they had taken such a detour; Fergus could see it in his eyes.

The tavern held a good crowd and all greeted their lord jovially, the chorus of m'lords gradually dropping away as the ale flowed. Fergus had fought side by side with so many of these men, they had the right to call him by his first name, or so he reckoned. The bartender refused to call him anything but my lord, as did the servers, but he'd long since overcome that particular embarrassment. He'd been called my lord by castle staff since he'd been old enough to answer back.

A game of cards followed a good meal and Fergus won the first hand and lost the second two, not because his mind wandered, but because he should have known better than to play against Hugh.

"Next time I will remember to make you my partner."

"Next time Travers will be home and the pair of you will rob me of a month's wages," the knight replied with a wink.

Brandy replaced ale and someone produced a pipe, someone else a lute and yet someone else a drum. The music flowed as a counter to conversation and card playing at first, then as the third round of Brandy made it past lips, voices rose in song and conversation all but ceased. Fergus happily abandoned his cards and sang along with the townsfolk, his clear tenor a familiar sound to most.

Fergus realised as the song ended and he reached for his drink that he'd not thought of Lucy in perhaps two hours. Of course, the streak had been broken and he grinned ruefully at the amber liquid before taking a long swallow. He wondered what her voice sounded like, when she sang. He had no doubt she liked to sing, she was a happy person and in his experience happy people sang. His parents had sang, his men sang often, Maker be thanked, and even Aedan sang. Thoughts of his brother had him withdrawing from the merriment, briefly, as he remembered the sound of Aedan singing, both with and without Leliana. Aedan did not sing often, he much preferred to dance, and here a smile took his mouth unbidden as he recalled the reason why his brother liked to dance.

"The ladies watch you when you dance," he'd said, following his observation with a broad wink. "They watch us as closely as we watch them, trust me. They want to see how you move."

Fergus didn't mind dancing, but his return argument at the time had been, "And they favour the quick and the agile, hm, over the slow and steady."

Aedan's steps had slowed and he'd laughed and clapped his brother soundly on the shoulder. "Who knows, Fergus, who really knows?"

Inevitably, he wondered how Lucy would dance. Gracefully, he decided, but with confidence in her steps.

Standing, Fergus noted the inn had acquired a lazy spin. He grinned as Hugh stood beside him offering a shoulder if need be. "You're a good man, Hugh," he said and jerked his head towards the rear. "I'll be back in a minute."

The knight insisted on accompanying him down hall toward the privy anyway, taking up a post outside the door. Before he reentered the hallway, Fergus paused, hearing raised voices beyond the closed door.

"You know as well as I do that two days underground with a woman can only lead to one thing," one of the men slurred and Fergus recognised the man, though his name did not immediately come to mind. A fisherman, from one of the recently returned deep sea vessels, the thought.

"Watch your tongue, Patrick," Hugh answered in a low tone.

"You're telling me he didn't have her? C'mon, mate, has she been up to the castle since?"

"No, she has not."

"Not that you've seen, anyway."

Fergus felt like growling, in fact, his throat rumbled as if he had made a sound inaudible though it might have been. He pushed angrily at the door, feeling his anger surge, knowing, dimly that he should pause, take several deep breaths and compose himself.

"The Teyrn is a gentleman, Patrick which is more than I can say for you," Hugh replied, then turned, saw Fergus and ducked his head. "My lord."

Fergus looked down at his balled up fists, his hands clenched so tightly his short nails dug at his palms. He could feel the tremor at his throat, something that rarely occurred, his temper usually being much more even. But to hear a woman he respected and admired insulted in such a way cut to the very core of what he was – a gentleman. And as such, he dropped his hands, knowing that striking the fisherman would accomplish none other than bruised knuckles, embarrassment on all parts, and add weight to the rumours that were so obviously already in circulation.

Blowing out a breath, Fergus turned to Patrick in time to catch a startled nod and quick bow. "M'lord."

"Patrick," he returned, softly. He added nothing else. No words would improve the situation in his opinion. Sometimes knowing what to say included knowing what not to say and so he held his tongue and merely stood as erect as he could, allowing his presence, his supposed nobility, to speak for itself. The fisherman backed away slowly, then fled.

"Fergus…" Hugh began.

Fergus raised a hand. "I know."

He supposed if he'd been to town sooner, he'd have been aware sooner, but always, in the back of his mind, he'd known there would be stories. But they could weather the storm, he had a good name and so did she. As he returned to the common room of the tavern, Fergus realised his night was over. She wasn't in the inn, much as he'd hoped his presence in town might magically summon her, and now he knew why. Leaving the rest of his brandy untouched, Fergus bid his fellows a good night and left the inn, pausing on the threshold as the chill night air swept the haziness away.

Silently he set off for the castle, Hugh at his side.

He stopped at the gates to bid his knight farewell. "Thank you, Hugh."

"Always, my lord."

Fergus nodded, knowing the man used the title purposely there, to state that he would always support his lord, would always stand by him, and he appreciated the gesture more than he could express then and there with his mind unfocused and his heart aching for something he thought beyond his reach.

"Fergus?"

"Hm?"

"Ask her to the castle, for dinner, with her son."

Fergus sighed and shook his head. "I cannot, she is a good woman."

"Exactly."

Frowning, Fergus turned a questioning glance upon his knight.

"She is a good woman, the best sort. Travers would give his assent, if that's what you're waiting for."

His men knew him so well…

"The rumours…"

"Fergus, no matter who you court, there will be tales. It's your lot. But to me it is obvious you care for her, and why not. There will be broken hearts across Highever when she accepts your invitation, Lucy is well thought of." The knight winked then, a grin creasing his face. "Imagine if you'd been caught down there for two days with Matilda Sadler."

Fergus chuckled. Matilda was a scary woman, older than anyone knew and meaner than a starving cat. Not his words, but he'd heard them bandied about often enough, probably from Hugh. He looked over at his knight and saw someone he admired and respected. Hugh was not an overly talkative man, and he often employed language that could curl the hair, but when he spoke, he meant his words.

"I will send her a note, an invitation."

"I'd be honored to deliver it for you," Hugh said with a quick bow.

"You know where she lives?"

"Aye, I do." He paused and that grin spread wider. "It's the cottage at the end there, the one where you stood a while and pretended to take in the view."

Fergus felt the grin pulling at his lips and he gave into it. "Hugh…"

"My lord?"

"Remind me not to play cards against you again."

"Right you are," he answered with a cheeky grin.


	5. Mushroom Soup and Leviathans

Mushroom Soup and Leviathans

Fergus looked down at the burgundy shirt he wore and frowned. He liked the colour, but it felt too vibrant in the low light of his bedroom, as if it had absorbed all the light of the lamps and the sheen of the quilt thrown across the broad bed behind him. His skin, normally lightly tanned by the end of summer, looked pale against the deep red and his hair looked almost black. Studying his reflection, the teyrn decided he just did not look like himself. Lucy had not seen him with a clean face, brushed hair and carefully pressed shirt, not up close. Would it be foolish to think she might prefer the rougher copy? Would it be foolish to think she might not recognise him? Would it be foolish to think these thoughts at all?

With a soft growl, Fergus began unbuttoning the shirt and casting it across the bedspread it matched so well, he picked up another. This would be the fourth change he had made. As fingers deftly buttoned the deep blue linen, he risked a quick glance in the mirror, fearing the dark colour might look worse than the burgundy. Maybe the green had been the better choice, or… what had he been wearing that day? Blue. Would it be odd to wear blue again? Dragging his fingers through his hair, Fergus left off the task of buttoning and sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

Maker's breath, it was worse the second time around. The anticipation, the knot of worry in his gut, the nervous twitch to his fingers, all of it felt amplified by the years between his first experience with infatuation and this last. How would this work, exactly? Could he court this woman as he had Oriana? Take her places, visit her home, walk with her, read to her, steal kisses until they decided between fortune and folly? A thousand other questions taunted and teased and Fergus gripped the bedcovers, closed his eyes and blew out a breath. He had to calm down. While not as cheeky as Aedan, he had never been awkward around women in the past. Why such fears gripped him now, he could not say. Sitting there, he recalled a conversation he'd had with Leliana, not a month before.

He had been reading in the library, actually, he'd been sleeping in the library, a book open across his lap, head tipped back and probably snoring. Leliana did not make sound if she did not want to be heard, and so he supposed she must have wanted to be heard. Heels scraped the floor and a throat cleared and he opened his eyes and shut his mouth. As he lifted his head, Leliana dropped gracefully into the chair opposite, leaned back and crossed one slender ankle over the other.

"These chairs are quite comfortable, Fergus. Do you think they were designed specifically with napping in mind?"

"It is quite possible, Leliana. Many have succumbed to their charms."

She grinned and leaned back, settling herself more deeply into the upholstery, and closed her eyes. Fergus watched her curiously, one brow quirked, one corner of his mouth pulled upwards as he wondered if she might actually attempt a nap, after having woken him from one. She did not. After a moment, she lifted her head and winked at him. Fergus chuckled in return.

"What are you up to this afternoon?" he asked her.

"Interrupting naps, naturally. I disturbed Aedan, and now I am here."

Fergus laughed. He could guess in exactly which why she had disturbed Aedan and supposed his brother would be sleeping off her attentions for a while yet. A glance at the small, high windows lining the rear wall confirmed his assumption that Rory and Grace were likely napping also. Snatches of sleep in the middle of a quiet afternoon were often the most restorative sort. But as Fergus felt refreshed by the minutes he had managed before Leliana's entrance, he indulged her with a warm smile.

"Well, would you like to talk about something?"

"I always like to talk about something, Fergus," she teased lightly and he felt himself grinning all the wider. It was not hard to see why his brother adored her so. Aedan had always had an eye for beautiful women, but Leliana had something else besides, the will to challenge and intrigue.

"And which particular something did you have in mind?" he asked, knowing she already had already chosen a subject and happy to play her game.

"Do you entertain when we are not here, Fergus? Do you have many guests to the castle?"

Scratching his head, the teyrn first tried to plot out why she had asked this particular question, then prepared his answer. "On occasion, yes. I played host to Bann Dalton over the summer, he and his wife stopped here on their way to Denerim." They had been pleasant guests. He'd befriended the Bann of Rainesfere two years ago at the Landsmeet and now the man and his wife always called in on their travels, as he had to them when visiting Redcliffe. "I usually have feasts during the festivals also, for the knights who have no kin in Highever. Kyle stays frequently." Here, Fergus laughed. "I couldn't very well turn him out that drunk." As he paused to consider the other guests he'd had, he looked up at Leliana and added somewhat ruefully, "My brother does not stay as often as I'd like." Is that what she had been hinting at?

Leliana expression cleared and he realised that was not what she'd been hinting at as she replied, "And that will change. He loves it here, Fergus. He is himself here, truly."

"I am glad to hear it." Leaning back in his chair, Fergus regarded his brother's wife quietly for a moment before asking, "What sort of guests do you think I should be entertaining?" And as soon as the words left his lips, he understood the nature of her question.

She smiled, reading the knowledge in his eyes, and Fergus shook his head and clucked softly at her. "Ah, Leli." Sobering, he resisted the urge to scratch the nagging but phantom itch on his scalp once more, aware it would be interpreted for exactly what it was: a nervous gesture. She meant female guests of course, they'd had this conversation before, nearly three years before, at Alistair's wedding. "More than one woman has spent the night in Castle Cousland over the past three years, dear sister," he said with his closest approximation of a cheeky grin. Aedan did it better of course, but Fergus knew he was not without charm.

"But did they share your bed or shiver alone?"

Fergus laughed again, unable to take offense at her words as his mind conjured images of women shivering alone in the various bedrooms of the castle. "I'll have you know we make sure none of our guests shiver. As for their choice of rooms…" he trailed off, a bemused smile now settling across his mouth. "Perhaps one has shared my bed." But not at Highever…

Leliana narrowed her eyes at him, holding his gaze as if to catch him out in a lie. When he did not flinch she instantly brightened. "I am pleased to hear it!" If only everyone were as easy to please as his sister in law. She had a smile that lit a room and lifted the spirits of all within. "Will you tell me about her, or… them?" Her eyes sparkled.

"I am a gentleman, Leliana; I do not kiss and tell!"

Clapping her hands together in delight, Leliana kicked up her heels and rocked back in her chair. Fergus chuckled at her antics. It was her turn to sober then, and she did, the large blue eyes taking on a pensive, yet caring aspect. "But you have not found love yet," she stated quietly.

Fergus let out a breath and shook his head, the old grief encircling his heart and pulling down at the edges of his mouth. After Alistair's wedding, and his previous talk with Leliana, Fergus had taken a woman to his bed while staying in Denerim. While he found the physical release satisfying, waking up to a strange face had been disconcerting. He had seen the woman afterwards, on subsequent visits to the city and she had even shared his bed once more. But after the second time they had decided to simply remain friends. As a widow herself, she did not have a reputation at stake, but neither did she have the desire to be a wife or a mistress. And for his part, Fergus had felt at odds being intimate without love. Since then he had slept alone.

The touch of a cool hand on his returned him to the library. "Do not wait for too long, Fergus. You should not be alone, you have much to give and share."

He had found a smile for her and nodded to her words, acknowledging and accepting them.

Now, looking across to the mirror standing to the side of the chest where he kept his clothes, Fergus took in his reflection, the dark hair that swept across his forehead and over his ears to brush the back of his neck, the dark eyes that resembled his mother's and the same straight nose he teased Aedan for, though on his fuller face it did not appear quite so long and his had not been broken twice. Clasping the bridge of his nose with his fingers, Fergus rubbed the narrow bone gently and let out a sigh. He clasped his family to his chest and held them close and thought over Leliana's words. He wished his sister in law were here now, she would have much advice to give. In the very least he could tell her, "I am not waiting any longer."

Standing up, he discarded the blue shirt and reached for the green he'd started with half an hour before. The colour of Highever, the colour of his eyes when they caught the light, the colour of the forests that surrounded the castle. Not the colour of a teyrn.

Hugh, his other guest and 'chaperone', slipped through the door of his study a few moments after he'd arrived and said, "Will we set a signal?"

"A signal?"

"For when you want me to take Bart on a tour of the castle, show him the armory, lose him in the storerooms."

Caught between shock and laughter, Fergus scratched his hair before dropping his hand and shaking his head in wonder. "Ah… I am not sure it would be polite to…"

Hugh held up a hand. "Do you really think a twelve year old boy wants to have dinner with his mother and the Teryn?"

"Probably not."

"So I'll be doing everyone a favour then, right? Bart will be interested in the armory, by the way, so no worries there!"

"Don't lose him in the dungeons, Hugh."

"Not for too long, anyway. We'll see what sort of adventures we can come up with," Hugh replied with a wink.

A servant appeared at the open door and informed them that the guests had arrived.

"Shall I escort them to the dining room, my lord?"

"No." He wanted to welcome Lucy to his home properly. "We'll come down."

The teyrn and knight walked side by side to the courtyard set just inside the large, wooden doors to the castle proper and Fergus worked to keep his nerves calm, ease the clench of his gut and the itch of his palms, wriggling his fingers as he walked. Hugh remained stoically silent. They rounded the corner and Fergus' nerves fled. Someone he knew stood in the courtyard, he realised the minute he saw her. A woman he liked and admired, a friend. Stepping forward with a smile, he returned Bart's salute with a bow of his own and looked towards Lucy.

"Good evening," he said, wondering if the greeting sounded entirely too banal. Instead of a disheveled tunic and leggings, Lucy wore a simple dress in a colour that closely matched her hazel eyes, somewhere between a soft burnt orange and chestnut. The colour looked good on her and added warmth to her cheeks and highlighted her hair, or so he thought. Two simple wooden combs held somewhat tame curls away from her face. She looked, to his mind, very lovely and he wanted to tell her so, but held his tongue, wondering if the comment might seem inappropriate in front of her son.

"My lord," she returned politely, the warmth of her expression underlined her formality, however, putting them both at ease, as if she was noble blood and he the guest. She turned towards her son, a youth with dark eyes and a mop of thick, brown hair, who looked as if he'd recently put on a couple of inches in height and was unused to seeing things from his new perspective. He had a friendly face, Fergus decided, and a naturally curious glint to his eyes. Putting her hand on his shoulder, Lucy introduced him. "This is my son, Bartholomew."

Extending his hand towards the boy, Fergus said, "Welcome to my home, Bartholomew."

After only the smallest hesitation, Bartholomew took his hand in a firm grip and bowed his head again. "Thank you, my lord," he said quietly.

"If I ask you to call me Fergus, will you let me call you Bart?" he asked solemnly before adding with a grin, "Bartholomew, while quite the distinguished name, will twist around my tongue and come out wrong more than once, I am sure. This will save me future embarrassment."

He saw the telltale tug at the boy's mouth as he answered, "Alright."

Fergus turned to Hugh. "And you both know Hugh, so there we are. Shall we go see what's for dinner?"

He led the way to the family dining room rather than the larger, more formal one. Fergus took most of his meals in the smaller room and preferred it to the cavernous space on the other side of the hall. This room was set into the base of a corner tower and had an almost circular shape. The outer wall had two small, high windows that let in sunlight during the day and offered a view of the stars at night. An inner wall hosted a small hearth and a low buffet lined the wall opposite. Set in the middle was a round table which could seat up to six comfortably and would allow the four of them to lounge in their chairs with plenty of elbow room. Fergus gestured Lucy to his left, waiting behind her chair to pull it out and seat and seat her in a gentlemanly fashion. Hugh sat to his right and Bart opposite.

Had he been entertaining only adults, he might have offered drinks and small talk first, but being somewhat familiar with the appetites of growing children, Fergus had opted to have dinner served first, hoping the food would set a congenial atmosphere. It did, not that Nan's cooking ever failed to produce cheer. Fergus had ever been grateful that the cook had survived Howe's treachery. He liked to tell her he'd be lost without her cooking, but honestly, he loved the matronly woman and had been overjoyed to find her alive and well in the village. She knew that. Nan knew her boys, as she called them, loved her for more than her apple pie.

The first course was mushroom soup. Lucy blinked at the bowl before looking up at Fergus.

"Is this…"

"Mushroom soup, yes."

Puzzlement swept across her face as she opted between being polite and amused. Amusement won out and she adopted a lightly chiding tone as she said, "I seem to recall the promise of a dinner with no mushrooms."

"You are quite correct," Fergus said, trying to keep a straight face. "You have my apologies, Lucy; you will have to simply accept a second invitation."

Lucy chuckled softly and dipped her spoon into the soup. "I will admit I am quite partial to mushroom soup."

Would it be silly to admit it was his favourite? Fergus smiled and nodded and attended to his own bowl, satisfied with his ploy. When he caught Hugh's eye, the knight winked broadly at him before turning his attention to Bart.

"Have you any interest in swords, Bart?"

Not yet, they'd not even finished the meal! Fergus darted a glance at the knight, but Hugh refused to meet his eye.

"Yes, Ser," Bart answered politely. "I have some little training with a dagger m'self, but I prefer a bow?"

Realising Hugh had merely started the conversation in the right direction Fergus relaxed and added his voice. "My mother was quite handy with a bow, Bart. She often provided for the family table."

Bart grinned. "As does mine."

They all smiled at Lucy and she seemed to shrink slightly beneath the attention of three men. "Oh, well, I'm fairly hopeless with a bow," she admitted. "I can swing a sword though!" This caused the rest of the table to start laughing as Bart and Hugh perhaps echoed Fergus' mental image of Lucy beheading rabbits and other small forest creatures with her sword. "Er," she said, cheeks reddening, "I use traps." She chuckled then, bending her head forward, and Fergus took the opportunity to admire the blush on the curve of her cheek.

The main course consisted of poached salmon with buttered potatoes and steamed greens. Simple fare, but the flavour of the fish spoke for itself, fresh caught and lightly sprinkled with salt and dill.

Gesturing the fish, Fergus addressed Bart. "How was your first extended trip out on your grandfather's boat, Bart?"

"Fantastic!" the boy answered enthusiastically. "We had fair weather the whole outing, which is odd this time of year; they said it was beginner's luck, me being on the boat and all. We could see the rain along the shore, though. And the fish were many and we filled the hold a day early, which is always a good thing, and we saw whales way out deep and the moon looked as if it might sit on the ocean one night and," he finally paused for breath, "that night? We saw the leviathan!"

"Oh, Bart!" Lucy said.

Glancing at Hugh and seeing the knight's grin echoed his own, Fergus urged the boy on. "Has your grandfather ever seen it before?"

"No! We think it was part of the beginner's luck thing!"

Nodding, Fergus finished his mouthful before leaning forward and offering in a confidential tone, "I've seen it too."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lucy giving him a sharp look and he turned to give her his most innocent smile. "Have you seen it, Lucy?"

"I have not, Fergus," she said tartly, her tone clearly indicating she did not believe he had either.

Leaning back in his chair, Fergus reached for his wine and took a slow and careful sip. He held the pewter goblet in his fingers as he began his tale. "My brother, Aedan," Bart nodded, everyone in Ferelden knew who Aedan was, "was about ten and I was eighteen when we saw the creature. We were out like you, fishing the Waking Sea. Jacob took us out, do you know Jacob?"

Bart nodded again. Everyone in Highever knew who Jacob was. Every town along the coast had an old man of the sea and in Highever his name was Jacob Grey. Seventy something years old and bent by the wind and the waves, the elderly fisherman still took his boat out on occasion with the help of his many grandchildren.

"Jacob took us out for two days and that night, the moon seemed to float above the ocean, big and full. The light was so bright it almost hurt the eyes and it lit the water for miles about. Jacob told us the moon only set like that twice a year, once in the spring and once in the autumn, and that if we were lucky we'd see the leviathan. I laughed, thinking, at eighteen, that he told us the tale of a fishwife." Fergus remembered the confusion on Aedan's face as he'd laughed. Aedan always wanted to do what his older brother did, but he also wanted to believe that the leviathan existed and that they would see it, and the ten year old boy had been torn between ridicule and curiosity. Feeling immediately guilty and realising his reaction had been somewhat rude, Fergus immediately sobered and nodded towards Jacob who took no offense and seemed to be regarding him with a knowing look in those sea foam coloured eyes.

To Bart, Fergus said, "But Aedan believed we would see it and I did not want to spoil the fun for my brother and so I decided to believe we would too."

Fergus took another sip from his goblet, knowing his audience waited and enjoying the pregnant pause. This is how Leliana must feel, he mused, gaining a new appreciation for the minstrel's craft. Just as he sensed questions were about to trip from three mouths, he continued. "We watched the moon rise from the ocean, and then we saw it, not once, but twice. At first I thought we'd seen a whale," and he'd held his tongue, not willing to dispel the wonder in Aedan's face, and then… "and then we saw it again, long, sinuous and scaled with fins all along the spine. Too long to be a whale, and narrow and undulating through the water…" his voice trailed off as he remembered the sight.

As a man of rational thought, Fergus had spent many nights trying to explain what he had seen. In the end he accepted the explanation of his ten year old brother. "Some things just are, Fergus." He wondered if Aedan still believed that, if the man who sought to order his life with charts and maps still believed that some things existed along the edge of reason.

Bart was nodding his head up and down. "Yes, that was exactly it!" Turning to his mother, he gave her a brilliant smile. "Do you believe me now, mum? Even Fergus has seen it!"

Lucy looked from man to boy, her eyes resting for a moment on each as if urging them to give up some plan they had plotted out in advance and then she smiled. "Well, I could hardly doubt the word of a teyrn, could I?"

Bart grinned and attacked his food with renewed enthusiasm and Fergus leaned forward to do the same. Feeling the weight of Hugh's eyes, he glanced up and caught an interesting look from his knight. The rogue almost looked as Aedan had all those years ago, caught between a desire to admire or believe, as if Fergus might have told the best tall tale ever and gotten away with it, or had just maybe really seen the softly rumoured leviathan. Fergus turned back to his plate with a smile.

After dinner, Bart took Hugh up on his offer to tour the armory and Fergus invited Lucy to join him in the small adjoining sitting room. Again Fergus chose to entertain his guests in the sitting room he kept for family use rather than the more formal parlor reserved for dignitaries and formal parties. The square room featured the same high, small windows as the dining room – none of the castle's rooms had terribly large windows, they had not been practical at the time the castle had been built. The sitting room had a much larger hearth and a small collection of comfortable furniture: two plush couches faced one another and at the end, two overstuffed chairs with a table in between. A low bookcase lined the wall beneath the windows and a bureau hugged the wall opposite the hearth. Set atop the polished wood surface stood a few bottles of liqueur and several glasses.

Gesturing the bottles, Fergus asked what she would like.

"Water if you have it," she answered and he complied before pouring a small measure of whiskey for himself.

"So, Fergus, about this leviathan," she started and he laughed.

"And here I thought you'd be asking me about the mushroom soup first."

Lucy chuckled and dropped her gaze. "No," she answered quietly. Looking up, she said, "I was happy to have an excuse to come back for another visit."

As he was already smiling quite widely, he could only nod happily at her response, so openly given. Had she been coy, he might have faltered. "You make a very polite guest," he noted. Then before he could think too hard on it, he continued with, "and quite the lovely one. You look very nice in your dress, Lucy. I meant to tell you earlier…"

Touching her hair lightly, checking the set of her combs with self conscious fingers, Lucy smiled. "Thank you," she said. "Quite the change from dirty breeches and tangled hair! I wasn't sure you'd recognise me."

"Well, I didn't at all, but I remembered Bart from the docks and guessed it must be you."

"Fergus!"

"Alright, I'll admit to that lie. But my story about the leviathan is true."

She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Bart was very excited to meet you. He wanted to hear the story of our adventure over and over again, I was afraid he'd ask you to tell it as well!"

"I would have happily indulged him."

"I expected you would. You have a way with people, Fergus. It is little wonder all of Highever thinks so well of you."

"The affection is mutual," he said.

Gesturing the arrangement of couches and chairs, Fergus let her seat herself, hoping she would choose a couch and that she would sit to the side, so as to invite him to share her seat. She did. Improper behaviour, he realised, for a maiden and an unmarried man, but they were neither. They had both done this before and so the rules were relaxed somewhat. Sitting next to her, close, but not too close, Fergus leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch and settled comfortably.

As they were seated closer together than at dinner, he caught the familiar scent of her, fresh herbs, elfroot and something else, her soap, probably. The smell took him back to the caves and it seemed as though the sitting room faded around them and they were together in the dimly lit passages again, except comfortably seated, warm, and properly dressed.

"I came looking for you," he confessed into the quiet that had risen between them. "Last week. I walked the row of cliff side cottages, not knowing which one was yours."

"I came looking for you," she replied. At his quizzical expression, she clarified. "It was the same evening. I heard you were in the tavern and I walked all the way to the door."

"You never came inside."

"No."

"What stopped you?" He knew, and he saw the answer in her eyes as he recalled Patrick's words. Taking her hand he said, "Thank you for accepting my invitation, Lucy. I could think of no other way to visit with you, and not set tongues to wagging."

"Fergus, we could be…" she stopped and blushed. Clearing her throat softly, Lucy sipped at her water, before setting the cup on the table before them. "Well, I could hardly refuse an invitation from the Teyrn himself, though that might have been an excuse for you to visit my cottage."

Her soft chuckles died away as Fergus tried to restore his expression from the forlorn fall it had taken at her suggestion that she might have refused his invitation.

"I would have taken a no as a 'no', Lucy," he said hesitantly, realising what he alluded to, knowing it underscored this entire conversation.

"Then it _is_ a good thing I accepted, otherwise you might have continued to lurk outside my cottage and I outside the tavern and the whole town might think us mad."

Fergus chuckled, encouraged by her words. Realising he still held her hand, he looked down at their curled fingers. "The whole town has seen me drink in the tavern, and sing, and many have heard my leviathan story. They have also met my brother, whose antics are far worse than mine..."

"You are not painting a very good picture, Fergus."

"I thought Travers had told you all tales of our wild youth?"

Lucy let go of his hand to cover her mouth as she laughed and he missed the warmth of her fingers immediately. Before he could recapture her hand, however, Hugh and Bart approached, their voices echoing loudly in the hall, Hugh's doing, no doubt, in case the 'couple' in the sitting room needed time to compose themselves. One look at Lucy's face confirmed she harbored the same suspicions and as their eyes met, Fergus became possessed of almost irresistible urge to kiss her. Her eyes widened and a pink flush crept across her cheeks and…

The moment passed, it had to. Fleeting regret whispered through Fergus, immediately followed by a warm sort of content. His want had been reflected in her eyes, he'd seen it, and for now, that would suffice. That Lucy had wanted him to kiss her was enough. Smiling, he leaned back and looked up at the door just as Hugh and Bart strolled in.

"Mum, you should see the armory! So many swords and daggers and shields, all matching!"

Fergus chuckled. He'd seen the Royal Armory, which put his small collection of arms to shame, but he did not spoil Bart's impression. Instead, he looked up to Hugh and asked, "Did you show him the bows as well?"

"I did, he took a liking to a particular one."

"Oh?" He had an idea he knew which one would appeal to the twelve year old boy. One of the smaller bows had a wave motif carved along the slender arms. It was a unique and attractive weapon and a good fit for a boy his size. "Maybe next time you visit, you can practice with the knights in the yard, give it a try?"

Bart looked immediately to his mother for permission and she nodded. "Perhaps I will bring my sword and ask the Teyrn for a match!"

Fergus turned to regard Lucy and noted the challenge in her eyes. A wistful pang tore through him and he attempted to speak and found he could not. He wanted to tell her that he'd welcome the match, would look forward to it, but all he could think of suddenly was his wife, Oriana, and her refusal to pick up a weapon. Lucy's expression faltered and Fergus knew if he did not force out the words, the moment would be ruined. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he said somewhat hoarsely, "I will look forward to it," then reached for his whiskey, taking a large swallow to ease the sudden dryness of his throat.

Bart and Hugh sat and the four of them conversed lightly for a while before Lucy noted the lateness of the hour.

"Can we escort you home?"

"Thank you, yes," Lucy replied sensibly. Her cottage did not lie far from the castle, perhaps half an hour's walk, but night had fallen and the lane extending towards the cliff was not lit.

Hugh and Bart walked ahead and Fergus admired his knight's ability to fully engage a twelve year old. That the knight clung to bachelorhood did not surprise him, Hugh had enjoyed the company of more than one lady over the years, though he conducted his affairs discreetly. But at only thirty four years of age, he had time yet, should he decide to settle. Fergus had no doubt there were women in Highever who daydreamed of Hugh's roguish charm. It was little surprise he and Aedan had got along well.

As the knight and the boy pulled a little ahead, Fergus reached for Lucy's hand in the dark. They did not talk as they walked, both seemed content to listen to the chatter of their chaperones. Fergus was more than content to simply walk at her side, his fingers entwined with hers. When they arrived at the cottage, the one at the end, the one he had paused behind, pretending to admire the view, Bart cast a sly look at his mother and reached for Hugh's arm.

"Let me show you my bow before you go, Ser Hugh."

Hugh complied with out a backward glance.

Turning to Lucy, Fergus murmured, "I think our friendship has earned Bart's stamp of approval."

She smiled warmly, either at the thought her son had blessed her acquaintance with the Teyrn or at the thought their friendship might continue and grow and then the moment had come upon them again; they were alone and by the design of a twelve year old boy. Fergus knew if he did not kiss her now, he would be a fool. No nerves clenched his gut and no itch teased his hands, only the slight chill of the night air stirred past his skin, making the connection of their joined fingers more welcome. He leaned forward and she lifted her chin. Their lips touched and the contact was not brief. It was a first kiss, but not, as hesitancy fled and the maturity of two adults lent a sureness and certainty to their actions. Her lips were as warm and soft as they looked and Fergus kissed her properly, savoring the feel and taste of her. This time, when the moment passed and they drew back from one another, it was not with wistful regret, it was with wide smiles and looks of affection.

Happiness bloomed within the quiet teyrn and he squeezed her fingers gently. "I will see you in three days time," he said, confirming the agreed upon date for Bart's trial of the bow and their sparring match.

"Does the idea of me wielding a sword discomfort you, Fergus?" Lucy asked suddenly.

He understood the nature of her enquiry. Many men believed women should dedicate themselves to the more feminine arts. If he held such an opinion, she would want to know it now, before they moved forward, before they exchanged more than one lingering kiss.

"No, Lucy, it does not," he answered truthfully. "I think more women should learn the art of defense. Fathers, brothers…" he felt his brows drawing together and worked to settle his expression, "…and husbands are not always around to do the job," he finished quietly.

Lucy seemed to understand his meaning and she nodded soberly.

"Good night, Lucy."

"Good night, Fergus."

Hugh respected his silence during the walk back to the castle and Fergus mentally thanked him for it. He'd known, in a sense, that moving forward with Lucy would dredge up the past, memories, feelings, joys and sorrows. In as many ways as she was different from Oriana, there would be similarities as well. And Lucy would have her own memories, her own past. They would both need a certain strength of character to take their two separate stories and attempt to knit them together.

They reached the castle and Hugh turned towards the knights lodgings.

"Hugh?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for this evening."

Smiling, the rogue gripped his arm fondly. "Take a deep breath, Fergus. 'Tis but the beginning, eh?"


End file.
